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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28123134">some togetherness this is</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXEksXx/pseuds/xXEksXx'>xXEksXx</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Deity Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Everyone is the traitor, Family Dynamics, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Injuries, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phil brings everyone home and they heal, Respawn AU, Tags Are Hard, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), but first they have to get all insane on each other, no beta we die like men, pre November 16, surprise! you're all the bad guy, they die but they're fine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:15:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>43,951</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28123134</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXEksXx/pseuds/xXEksXx</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no togetherness.</p><p>There are only sad old men who die sad, sudden deaths. There are only liars. There are only murderers. There are only power-hungry children with no one on their sides. There are only people with something to prove. There are only people desperately trying to protect what's theirs. There are only traitors. There are only children raised wrong. There are only men who have really, truly lost it.</p><p>And, of course, there are the men who orchestrate it.</p><p>Fortunately, though, in spite of everything, there are fathers with nothing else to lose. Who have only seen the crisis in letters. Who have, wise beyond their years, realized they had to bring their sons home. </p><p>And if not a togetherness, there was, at the very least, a home.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dave | Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Wilbur Soot &amp; Phil Watson, Floris | Fundy &amp; Wilbur Soot, Niki | Nihachu &amp; Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo &amp; TommyInnit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>70</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. they call this togetherness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>To make things simple, I guess we can start with Quackity. The liar. After all, people like Quackity never really change at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So what. Quackity never defected. Big deal. He and Schlatt had known Tommy came weaseling around Manberg all the time. The argument was planned, and though Quackity would have rathered the White House didn't come down, he understood the importance of worming his way into their ranks. It was only believable from him. Besides, he meant what he said that one time while exploring the tunnels under Manberg. The thing really was an eyesore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had considered himself and his position in history. Sometimes Tommy's hope spread to him, too. Sometimes he was almost certain the exiled L'manbergians would reclaim the country. Sometimes he wondered if they were right. If all this time, he really had been Schlatt's bitch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Schlatt was his friend - sort of. His leader. And who knows, maybe if Schlatt's alcohol and nicotine addictions kept up, he really would be president. It was a thought to smile at, at least.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So that's what it all came down to. Ambition. Lying. Doubt. If he was going to keep his power in Manberg it would take a certain finesse. It was the sort of thing only he possessed. And though he wasn't the good guy, not by a long shot, he knew that already. He didn't even know if there was a good guy in all this. He didn't know if there was a bad guy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because Schlatt was insane, but it wasn't about Schlatt. It was about avoiding a one-party system. If Schlatt wasn't a good president, it didn't matter, because there would be others. And if you think about it in that sense, it's hard to really fault Quackity for choosing what he did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Quackity was starting to find fault in himself, and all it took was the doubt. Manberg was going to be garbage so soon. If it wasn't won back, who knew what would happen to it. Schlatt was not a good man. He was not a just leader. He was no more just than old Wilbur Soot, so confident in his eternal throne. He was no better. Neither was Quackity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whatever.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>And I guess you could say it started with Technoblade, too. A murderer. He had never been with them either. It wasn't because he was with Schlatt or Dream, though. He just wanted a world where the power was distributed equally among its members. Not a world with champions, not a world with heroes. (And in all fairness, it would be a shock to nobody. He had been open about his disdain for the government from the very beginning. Only half of his involvement had to do with helping out his brothers. The rest was all about anarchy.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As war loomed closer and closer, he came to realize the conflict of interest between himself and the others was too great. He made a plan. When he was done, there </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> would be no heroes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy was his brother, yes, and so was Wilbur. They had been raised side by side in a small village and had all been very close growing up. Wilbur was his sparring buddy when Tommy was still too small and Tommy was his mentee when Wilbur went through that phase where all he wanted was to be alone with his guitar. Both of his brothers had followed him everywhere and he would do anything they asked of him. Well, almost anything. Still, the whole "help overthrow this tyrant" thing was pretty impressive by most older brother standards.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was with great pain Techno lied to his brothers and friends. He had never been the lying sort. He had never aspired to hurt people like Tubbo, whose only crime was being in the wrong position at the wrong time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He would fight with them. He would work for them. He wouldn't let them instate another president. That was a promise.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy had always wanted to be important. It made sense. So many people in his life thus far had been incredible. Wilbur was the president. Technoblade was a warrior. Even people like Eret or Schlatt, who screwed everybody over in their quests for power.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy did love L'manberg. Of course he did. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He was the only person, aside from Tubbo, who had been there from the very beginning and still wanted to protect it. Wilbur had gone mad. Eret had left them long ago. Even Fundy, who had been born within its walls, had burned down the flag and replaced it with that ugly, dark thing that hung in the sky, visible from each border of the nation. And he wanted his country. He wanted it back. No one else cared about it anymore. No one else was fit to rule it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So when Dream came to him with a document handing over L'manberg to none other than Dream himself, he was pissed. Dream had been the man who kept L'manberg in its chains so long ago and now he essentially had it back in his evil clutches.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he offered Tommy something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Power.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could have L'manberg and all it would take was him bringing the pogtopians to Dream. He would be emperor. He would be a one-party system. It really would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>L'manberg.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he didn't refuse.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo made a deal with Dream, too. Unaware that the same thing had been promised to Tommy, Dream had agreed to hand Tubbo full ownership of L’manberg if he worked as a “spy” for the enemy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Truth be told, he never told Pogtopia anything they wouldn’t have learned by themselves anyway. Even the archive he’d built was for show. The tunnels, though largely his work, would have eventually gotten done without his help, too. If the others thought too hard about it, he never really brought anything new to Pogtopia’s table. Well, not much anyway. If they had bothered to look into it even a little, they would realize Tubbo was never </span>
  <em>
    <span>their</span>
  </em>
  <span> spy. He was Schlatt’s.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But they didn’t, obviously, thereby confirming Tubbo’s justness in doing what he was doing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They would never assume Tubbo was working under Schlatt. I mean, the guy was insane! But Wilbur was, too, now. It didn’t make a difference. At least Schlatt had most of his mental faculties most of the time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Let’s face it, it wasn’t like Tubbo liked working with Schlatt. The guy was a total basket case. Old, senile, alocholic. You could smell his liver spots. The ceiling was starting to stain yellow from all his smoking, too. Why Quackity would prefer this guy to be president over Wilbur was anyone’s guess. Why Dream wanted to work with him was an enigma, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo didn't really </span>
  <em>
    <span>get</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dream, per se. He helped Wilbur. Gave him the stacks of TNT he needed to blow up L'manberg, but also gave Schlatt whatever he wanted. What Tubbo had yet to understand is that there are more than two sides to any given thing and that people work in their own best interest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The doublecrossing wasn’t about sides to Tubbo either, though. It was about proving he wasn’t a pushover. He knew what the others thought of him. Wilbur all but said it at the festival, and Tommy, though he was defending him, had agreed it was something he “struggled with,” which was disheartening to say the least. The fact that no one even bothered checking to make sure he wasn’t an enemy in hiding spoke loud enough. They didn’t see him as his own person.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he were on a “side,” he’d have without a doubt stuck with the pogtopians. I mean, Tommy was there. Wilbur had been a good man before everything went wrong. Techno was practically a god among men, in a less literal sense than Dream. And no one was really working with Schlatt aside from Dream, who, admittedly, was a worthy ally to have, but was still only one man.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But speaking of the festival, it was all Dream’s idea. Not just the event, but the execution, too. His plan was to force Techno to kill Tubbo. Whatever he chose, they were screwed. If Tubbo was shot, it sewed discord in their ranks with their most valuable member. If he wasn't, then they could kill Techno and take all his stuff, and properly and legally justify declaring him an enemy of the country, which would keep him from snooping around within their borders. Easy as that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Yet again, Tubbo didn’t get why Dream was suddenly so invested in L’manberg politics, but he didn’t mind the extra help.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo wasn’t thrilled by the prospect of dying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sure, people died all the time. No one was ever sure how many they had left in them. You would think the uncertainty that they would come back would make people more careful, but it didn’t. At least, not until they were really getting up there in years. Excruciating pain, people would come to learn, is extremely temporary.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Besides, Tubbo wasn’t known to lose lives. Being sixteen and relatively cautious, he shouldn’t have had much to worry about. It was almost impossible to go through enough lives to die that young. It wasn’t uncommon to meet people who were a hundred, even two hundred years old, if they lived relatively safe lives as architects and scientists in more peaceful worlds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was going to be the morning after soon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He remembered a lot more than he usually did after passing away so horrifically. He remembered waking up and seeing, what felt like, nothing. The colors were all dulled in comparison to moments before. He remembered his skin burning and his ears ringing, residually from seconds ago. He remembered his heart beating out of his chest. He thought he remembered seeing Tommy on the corners of his vision, too, like he had tried to come for him before he died.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He felt a bit bad. Betraying everyone really wasn’t in his nature. But he had a point to prove.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was not a pushover.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Niki was a simple girl, you know. She had come to L'manberg to be with people she loved. Back in the days fresh after the war, she spent her time with Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, and Fundy. Enjoying a new beginning in a foreign land was nothing Niki was a stranger to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boys were always a bit different than her. They reckoned that settling was more fun than being settled. Wilbur had always had trouble with that. He couldn’t just sit in the sun and let time pass him by. If there was no enemy, he would make one. Tommy was similar, always milling about for something to do, resorting to the most menial tasks to fill his days with.  Fundy, growing up, had always followed in Wilbur’s footsteps. Then, by the time he had reached his early adult years, he was looking for ways to strike out and be his own man. Tubbo got himself into silly situations all the time, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the election happened and ripped everyone apart.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream and her spoke about it, and surprisingly, he had agreed with her about it all. She had never known Dream to sympathize with fears of safety. Wilbur and Tommy were all alone in uncharted territory, apparently living in a cave. Tubbo was with Schlatt, which was probably the worst place for a growing boy. Fundy was clearly being led down the wrong path.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Niki,” he’d said. “I totally understand. After the revolution, this place was totally peaceful and safe. Now, Wilbur and Tommy are constantly putting themselves in danger. And if Schlatt finds out about you and Tubbo’s little rebellion from the inside, I don’t even want to think about what will happen.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Niki, frustrated, said, “They’re children, Dream! And Wil, he…!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know what you mean, Niki,” Dream conceded. “I really do. If only there was a way to ensure everyone’s safety.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a strange mirth in his voice, both cold and warm at the same time. Niki didn’t want to trust Dream. He was never on anyone’s side. He wasn’t trustworthy. He certainly had never helped L’manberg before. Still, he was being oddly compliant, and that was something she couldn’t ignore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you thinking?” she asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have something that will bring,” Dream pulled a book out of his bag. “A new peace to Manberg-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“L’manberg,” Niki corrected.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream stared behind the mask, wordless, and then continued, “A new peace to L’manberg. To the SMP. An agreement. All it will take is you, Niki.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“... Can I see it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tucked the book away back into his bag.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, ‘fraid not. It’s a valuable thing, you know. I can’t be sure you won’t run off with it. I can’t even be sure I’m allowed to talk about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course Niki knew she shouldn’t have trusted him, not even a little bit, but-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was her family. Surely you’d do the same. She had people to protect. She had to protect them from the horrors of another war. She wasn’t afraid of Schlatt, or of Dream, or of anything that they’d do to her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But she was afraid of what she’d already seen. Terrible weight pressed heavy upon Tubbo’s shoulders, the spark in Fundy’s eyes as he burned her flag, Wilbur and Tommy grabbing each other and pulling each other along as arrows whizzed past them and struck their backs and arms. She was afraid of finding Wilbur alone at night, down by the canal, looking terrified and sick, like she used to find him all the time fresh after the first war. She was afraid of splinting another broken knee. She was afraid of almost vomiting as she had to pull an arrow out of someone’s chest. She was afraid of war.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you ask of me?” she said at last.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“All it will take is for you to keep everyone apart. Let the pogtopians find a new place to live, let Schlatt ruin himself and the country alone. You just have to steer them that way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let Schlatt have L’manberg,” she'd said, bristling. “That’s ridiculous. Besides, they’d never go for it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They will,” Dream said, shaking his head and placing a hand on Niki’s shoulder. “Because it would be coming from you, Niki.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both the weight of Dream’s hand and the weight of his gaze made Niki’s fight or flight flare up, but she stood her ground, trying her best to look strong and confident.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They don’t listen to me,” she argued. “They’d only accept it from Wil.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream took a step back and started laughing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And who does Wilbur listen to?” he asked. “All you have to say, Niki, is that you can’t return to L’manberg, and if it’s you who’s saying it, Wilbur will believe it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And phrase it just like that, too. That you can’t go back to L’manberg, or maybe that L’manberg is ruined, because Wilbur can’t know it’s coming from me. He wouldn’t trust it,” he said, then held out his right hand. “If you do that, I promise things will go back the way they were. I’ll even write out a legal document for you, if that makes you feel better.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And admittedly, that did make her feel better.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Write one out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He cocked his head to the side in a way that unsettled Niki. Dream wasn’t very physically expressive, and you obviously couldn’t tell what he was thinking from his face either. But that eerie, horror movie-esque gesture just made her skin crawl. Coming from anyone else, it would have been a simple gesture, but Dream was always in that uncanny valley territory.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So we have a deal?” he asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Niki shook his hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he turned to leave and write out a proper agreement, she called out one last time, “How do I know you’re not tricking me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He replied, “I think you’ll find I stick to my word.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he did.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Eret didn’t know what he was doing anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was the king, and of what? Of a handful of people he didn’t really know too well and who didn’t even recognize him as king? He was respected, sure, but by people he hadn’t even come to respect. By Dream, who owned the whole goddamn world, maybe. By Sapnap, who stole and killed. By George, who… come to think of it, when was the last time he’d even seen George?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wandered the halls of his palace late at night, feeling very cool and fantastical and all, but altogether, a bit empty.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had built himself a beautiful castle. A tower looming over the land he had helped create. He wore a crown and a red robe, for pete’s sake! He had everything he wanted!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But that wasn’t really what he wanted, was it? It seemed impossible for him to just sit back and be satisfied.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>L’manberg was home for months. It was early morning fishing trips with Wilbur, who occasionally wandered off for hours at a time, only to come back looking all happy. It was helping Tubbo and Tommy with their schooling, and then calling Wilbur when even he couldn’t figure it out. It was repairing burst pipes under the van. It was eating salmon and wondering if Wilbur really did have a salmon mistress or if that was just a delicate way of saying Sally and the other hybrids had left for better lands. It was picking flowers with Tubbo and getting chased down by overly aggressive bees. It was making eye contact with the occasional SMP citizen through the grate out to the stream and spitting in their general direction to show his disdain. It was sitting up at night discussing what he remembered of Sally with Fundy. It was building huge, imposing, dark walls in the bitter winter, watching his hands turn pink in the cold. It was hearing the cracking of wood, and huddling together, wondering if Dream and his men had finally decided to squash their little rebellion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had everything he wanted, but he wasn’t able to go home, no matter how shitty and wonderful at once he remembered it being.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With nowhere left to go to and nothing left to gain, Eret understood that he should at least maintain what he had. So when Dream told him to try and worm his way into Pogtopia, to betray them at the last moment if things didn’t go according to plan, he didn’t fight back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t been home in god knows how long. It’d be nice to see everyone smiling with him again, even if it would be cut short. And who knows, if everything went well like Dream expected it to, maybe he wouldn’t have to cut it short at all. Maybe Eret could finally return home and still keep his kingship.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It would just take some lying, but Eret had lied before, and he could do it again.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Fundy wasn’t going to keep the diary, to begin with.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t his idea. It was Eret’s, who, for the record, had looked nervous just pitching it. He’d said something like, “What if you need to go back to Wilbur?” which just made Fundy angry, because he wasn’t going back to Wilbur. Wilbur may have been his dad, but he had left him. Ran off with Tommy and left his </span>
  <em>
    <span>own son behind</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And he was just a really bad dad anyway. Honestly, screw that guy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he had given him this specific look. It was urgent. And although Fundy wasn’t from the SMP, had been one of the few members to be born within the walls of L’manberg, he felt inclined to follow a king’s request (if you could even call Eret a proper king, that’s what Wilbur always said). So he started a diary.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was interesting, looking at everything with a critical eye. Writing state secrets. Writing about Schlatt’s shortcomings as a president and as a person. The more he wrote, the less he revered him. Not that he'd admit that aloud. It made him think Eret was right. With all of Schlatt's issues, it wasn't a stretch to think Wilbur would be reinstated eventually.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy had always kept his cards close to his chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe that was why it was inevitable that Fundy and Wilbur fell out. He was never able to articulate how he felt very easily with others, especially not his dad. He didn't like justifying what he said and what he did. Maybe it just ran in the blood. But when Fundy ran for president, even though he still only thought of him as his child, Wilbur was obviously hurt (and proud all at once, but the hurt was there). And now, whenever he did encounter Wilbur, there was this sickness in his eyes. A darkness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But it wasn't like it was all Fundy's fault either! Wilbur smothered him. Never gave him any room to grow! And when he finally tried to prove himself, finally tried to be his own man, Wilbur acted like he was in the wrong for that. It was stupid. Wil was stupid.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, he and Wilbur were both more similar than they thought, though. All either of them really needed was some guidance and approval from their dad, but when they looked each other in the eye, they found no similarities to bind them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then there was Dream.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream was, to say the least, very bothersome to Fundy. Though he didn't try to maintain his father's biases, for all he knew Dream was a decent man, Dream had this way about him that could set anyone on edge. It was his movement. He didn't always do it, which made Fundy believe it was intentional. He liked setting people on edge, for whatever reason. Maybe he was trying to exhibit his power. Or maybe he just thought it was fun. Whatever it was, it both drew Fundy to Dream as well as made him want to get as far away as possible.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Dream was working with Schlatt, which, okay, cool. Enemy of an enemy is a friend. Fundy got that, sure, though it seemed a little strange. And Dream clearly had big plans to make sure Schlatt succeeded. So when he requested that in a short time, Fundy go to the pogtopians and seek respite in their ranks, citing the diary as proof of his loyalty, Fundy understood Eret's plan was never about going back to Wilbur. It was about ruining him further.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With some moral qualms, Fundy agreed. Dream need only tell him when. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur was his family, sure. He had raised Fundy by himself for almost his entire life. He had been his biggest inspiration. He had adored Fundy all throughout his childhood. He almost never raised his voice at him, and when he did, usually apologized after. He had bandaged every scraped knee. He had doted on him relentlessly. He had let him sit on his lap when he was writing important documents. He had taught him how to shoot a bow. He had regaled him with stories of his mother after she left. He had been as deep a comfort to Fundy as Fundy was to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But whenever this warmth for Wilbur bloomed in his chest, Fundy remembered the darkness in his eye whenever Wilbur looked at him now. Whatever Fundy had been to Wilbur was long gone now. No more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No more.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur, though, had really, truly lost it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though he was starting to doubt he ever had "it" in the first place. What had L'manberg even been to him? A place to sleep, yes. A happy memory, maybe. But ultimately, it was nothing now! It deserved to be nothing! To be charred dust beneath his boot!</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But he was getting ahead of himself. Tommy was, after all, very persuasive. His hope was almost infectious. Almost. But he was able to quell Wilbur's desire for chaos and destruction, a little bit. To ward it off for another day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur had always been… a bit much. A storyteller at heart, he thought it would be rather ironic for him to both bring the country to life and to its death. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to resist the siren call of the explosives he had laced through L’manberg.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He always stuck to the walls of Pogtopia nowadays. He feared if he stood without support, he might just topple over, which would be bad in a ravine full of stone and high bridges and staircases. The stress was really getting to him, mentally and physically. He had a lot to think about at all times, always warring with himself, always worried about everyone's health, always wishing that he and they were all dead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Had he been a good ruler? Wilbur was having a hard time remembering. He had a sort of selective memory with these sorts of things. Always had. Had Niki been happy at her bakery? Had Tommy been happy milling about with Tubbo everyday? Had Fundy been happy being his son? Were they proud of Wilbur? Would they still be? Would Phil be?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil was going to come live with them on the SMP, you know. He was just awaiting a green card from whatever mysterious travel officials the SMP had. With how long it was taking, Wilbur wondered if the approval had to go through Dream himself. It wasn’t like he could go to Dream and complain that his dad wasn’t getting sent through fast enough, though. It wasn’t a good look. He had to maintain his strength, had to show Dream he was still strong enough to take care of his people and himself. If he didn’t, Dream could worm his way in and take whatever he wanted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur didn’t have much to do now. He’d done the hard, physically exhausting labor of laying the TNT already. Tommy was the one always running off, getting a feel for what was happening in L’manberg. Techno did all the farming and left all the time gathering supplies. Tubbo was the only one who really bothered maintaining the tunnels and the archive, not that he was around all that often. All Wilbur had to do was… be stable. Be a symbol.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Look how great that was going! … God, he wanted to take a nap.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream came to him in the nighttime. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He heard something in the tunnels under L’manberg, which wasn’t irregular. A cave spider, a skeleton archer come back from the dead, occasionally a lone enderman. Techno wasn’t around and Tommy wasn’t old enough, not seasoned enough to know the tell-tale sounds of danger.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur wasn’t an idiot. He’d always hated armor, but he took the bow Dream gave Tommy (which… was interesting. It was a fantastic bow, finely crafted right there in the SMP, old, weathered, but carefully maintained and restrung through the years. It made Wilbur feel important, carrying it, and he suspected Tommy felt much the same.) and crept down the steps and stood still, listening for his enemy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He felt himself shiver. It was always much colder in the ravine at night, but this chill came from the fact that the intruder was distinctly human. If it were a spider, he would hear its hissing and there would be eight footfalls instead of two. If it were a skeleton, it wouldn’t care about stealth. It would click through the halls, mindlessly. If it were an enderman, he probably wouldn’t have heard it at all unless it got into some sort of mischief, which endermen, tall and clumsy as they were, were known to do. No, the steps resounding through the halls were light and quick, but not so light that Wilbur couldn’t hear the sound of metal. Whatever, whoever, it was was not only armored, but was also moving rather quickly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Struggling to get the crossbow in the proper position, Wilbur quickly stepped into the halls to confront whoever was there. Fortunately, though, before he shot, he took a closer look at the armored individual and recognized Dream, who, for now, was his ally.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur…!” Dream greeted, with an unsteady friendliness that betrayed his surprise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dream,” Wilbur replied, curt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was just coming to see you, you know,” he said, gesticulating in a way that was clearly meant to be warm and friendly, but looked wrong coming from Dream, his age-old enemy. Before the revolution, his and Dream’s relationship was a relatively good one, but since then he’d only ever seen him as ruthless and cold. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he had to describe it, he would say Dream moved very similarly to a black mamba. It was the rhythmic sway he had whenever he was upset and the total stillness when he wasn't that defined his strange patterns. Techno had revealed that to him once and he'd been watching for Dream's little tells ever since.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s late,” Wilbur commented, gesturing to the dark tunnels. They’d blown out the torches during night as to not waste coal and to deter any curious Manbergians that might find the tunnels while they were sleeping.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is it? I don’t really keep track anymore. It’s certainly dark,” Dream commented. A weird thing to say. What did he mean he “didn’t really keep track anymore?” Clearly, he was trying to intimidate Wilbur, for whatever reason.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We were sleeping. You’re lucky Technoblade isn’t here. If it had been him who heard you, you would be down another life,” Wilbur said, hoping to be just as intimidating, even if he had to namedrop his older brother. If Dream was a black mamba, Technoblade was the mongoose. While it would have made more sense to say he was a pig or a boar, he was definitely the natural predator of Dream. With his adaptability, he was the only one who knew how to handle him. It only took a bit of baiting, which Dream took most of the time, and when he was surprised, Techno struck. Not that Techno always won against Dream. That wasn’t guaranteed. It was just people described Dream’s skills as “really good” and people described Techno as “a monster.” You could see where the disparity lies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It is lucky, isn’t it?” he said, not rising to Wilbur’s bait. “But like I said, I’m here to see you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you want?” he asked, crossing his arms and finally moving the crossbow from view.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to blow up Manberg, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Wilbur said, tired and already fed up with whatever game Dream was playing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want to strike a deal with you,” Dream said. “Schlatt is a total doofus. I don’t think he can win.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, Wilbur? Got something to say to that?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"... Get on with it, prick," Wilbur said. "Surely you didn't come down here just to tell me that."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which, okay, maybe was a bit harsh, but Dream had pressed him for an answer and also was visiting him in the middle of the night to say that trivial bullshit. So forgive him for being a little snappy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The warm gestures Dream had been using suddenly stopped. He tilted his head to the side and stood silently for a moment. Creepy. If he didn’t wear that goddamn mask he’d be so much more likeable, Wilbur wagered. Maybe then you’d be able to tell what he was thinking from something other than how much he looked like he was about to strike at you. Wilbur could see Dream physically restraining his swaying, intentionally trying to keep still. He should have held his tongue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I just wanted to say that because you want to blow the place up, right? So if you really do…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"This isn't the best time," he said, watching Dream's swaying pick up in pace, however slight. "for you to be trying to fuck with my head. At least wait till morning, Dream."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well," Dream said, staring at him analytically. "I did have more to say to you, but I can see you're not in the most chipper mood. Maybe we </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> talk later."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I agree. Goodnight, Dream,” he said. “Get out of my goddamn tunnels.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he crept back to the barracks and carefully slid Tommy’s crossbow back under his bed, he heard the boy shift and turn to look at him with bleary eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Wilbur?” he asked. “What’re you doing?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thought I heard an enderman fucking around in the tunnels. Must’ve teleported away,” he lied.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gotcha,” he mumbled, turning back around and falling back asleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur sat in his own cot, rubbed his eyes, and pulled his blanket over himself. There was so much to think about, but the frosty air of the cave made him sleepy. Maybe it was for the best. It was so hard to sleep now, he might as well let it take him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream had come to him at night. To say Schlatt was going to lose. To tell him he would probably be able to go home. So why did he feel so disappointed? Why did he feel like he was playing into some sort of trap? Why did he feel like he was losing his grip?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked at Tommy one last time before drifting off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was going to be so disappointed in him.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream tried moving the L'manbergians along like chess pieces. Eret was still of use as king, so he let him keep his title. For now. Technoblade was a loose cannon, couldn't be trusted, and was best left to his own devices. Tubbo was shy, simple, and a very good spy. Niki was just desperate. Wilbur was just insane.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tried to move them like chess pieces.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still, he had his doubts. Wilbur wasn't as easy to manipulate as he had hoped. Fundy was looking at him like he was sizing him up for a fight. Not even Quackity was immune to the words of the other pogtopians.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream couldn't be arrogant. He was very smart, he knew that, but he didn't know what was happening in the others' heads. For all he knew, they were all working together against him at this very moment. He had to consider human error when planning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was fairly certain Niki knew she was being puppeted, at least a little bit, and he could tell Eret's heart wasn't in it. Wilbur didn't even give in like he'd expected him to. Maybe Tommy and Tubbo were convinced, he was fairly certain they were, but in all fairness, they were both children. If they weren't, then Dream was worse at this than he thought.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Morning was coming after the festival in Manberg. Dream wondered how the pogtopians were doing. He hoped it was poorly. The whole point was for them to be doing poorly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fortunately for him, they were, in fact, doing poorly.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ok that's it then. so this is a traitor au!!! and they're all going to feel terrible until our friend philza minecraft comes in and saves the day. but he can't yet. bc of immigration reasons. dream is being mean but its going to be ok.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. it stays in the pit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Wilbur is insane, but that's not abnormal. Technoblade kills his brother in a pit. Tommy, Tubbo, and Niki take a walk together to wallow in their guilt. Quackity is upset. Fundy is quiet. Schlatt is keeping some things close to the chest. Dream and Eret play chess. </p>
<p>Morning comes in the SMP.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy woke with a start. He was in bed. In Pogtopia. But his hands were warm and vaguely numb from his recent fist fight. When he sat up, his head rushed with sudden vertigo. His older brother had just killed him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jesus fucking Christ.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>To be fair, Tommy had known Techno would. It was a "to the death" sort of thing. A ruffian's duel, rather than that of gentlemen. That didn't mean it wasn't jarring to wake up from his brains being dashed on the rocks in a pit haphazardly made for him by his </span>
  <em>
    <span>other </span>
  </em>
  <span>brother, who had been egging them on the whole time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur was a real piece of work, huh?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was definitely one of his more traumatic deaths, but he didn't have time to think about it as he heard the clatter of Tubbo and Niki scrabbling up the stairs to check on him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Tommy!" Niki cried, throwing her arms around him. She quickly backed off. "Oh, I'm sorry. You're not still dizzy, are you?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"No, no, I'm okay now," he said, a little shaken, but mostly telling the truth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It's okay, Tommy, really," Tubbo assured him. "Well, maybe not </span>
  <em>
    <span>okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but… I forgive him."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't understand how you can! He killed you! With a fucking firework!" he replied.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"... So I guess you're still mad at me?" a voice asked from the staircase. It was Technoblade, looking worse for wear, but he wasn't the one who just died, now was he?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You killed Tubbo!" Tommy quickly got out of bed, but felt his legs begin to shake under him. Niki reached out to keep him steady, though.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It stays in the pit, Tommy."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You…!" he began to lunge, but Niki kept him in place. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>It didn't happen in the goddamn pit! You bitch! This is all your fucking fault!</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Please calm down," she said quietly. "At least let yourself adjust. You just died from a head injury. You know how that messes with you for a while afterwards."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Niki was right. Whenever someone died of a particularly traumatic injury, it was no surprise if the individual had problems with whatever part of their body had received the trauma for a few minutes afterward or if they still felt the ache. It didn't satiate his anger, though.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He and Techno had fought before. Of course they had. They were brothers. And while Wilbur had always been a little softer, both Technoblade and Tommy were very rough and tumble, especially as children. They all sparred as kids, under Phil's watchful eye, and sometimes when someone wasn't sharing or when someone was being too annoying, they resorted to fighting then, too. They had never fought this way, though. They had never fought aiming to kill.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't forgive you, Technoblade," Tommy said, resolute.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You don't have to. You just have to put it behind you," Technoblade reasoned.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As Niki let go of him, Tommy began stretching his aching limbs out. "God, I wish Phil were here," he said. "He would take care of shit." He shook his hands quickly then wrung them out. The ache was mostly gone, but giving oneself time to adjust when respawning was important.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Anyway, here's your stuff- can I keep these weakness arrows, actually?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"... </span>
  <em>
    <span>Okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Tommy conceded.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Thanks. Er, sorry again, kid," Techno said to Tubbo, a bit nervous. "Wasn't nothin' personal. I'm headed back to the farm now. Holler if you guys need me."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"We won't," Tommy called after him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>By the time he heard Techno reach the last step, Niki and Tubbo's attention were back on him. He felt a bit shit. Not from the fight or anything. He was just suddenly growing a conscience. Must be a part of puberty, he reckoned.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Betraying them was… a powerful move on Tommy's part, without a doubt. Honestly, it might not even be worth it at the end. But the call of the title "emperor" was too alluring, too big to pass up, even if it was a bit fucked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"So, Wilbur…" Tubbo began his next train of thought.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"He's a real interesting character, isn't he?" Tommy said with a snort. Wilbur was a whole different level of fucked. Tommy didn't know how to soothe him or how to change his mind. All he knew was he was dangerous now- not to be trusted. He felt a bit bad saying that about his own brother, but it was true, wasn't it?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was just one more justification for his own actions in his head. By betraying Pogtopia, he was actually saving everyone from dying in a horrible explosion. No better way to stop Wilbur would present itself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What happened to him?" Niki asked, looking down the staircase as if she could see him down there, though she couldn't. She hadn't really been in the loop. No one told her anything. Admittedly, Tommy didn't understand his brother's behavior much more than she did, but he didn't understand why Niki was kept in the dark for so long. Why wasn't she angrier? They had left her alone in Manberg for so long. Wilbur had refused to go save her, though Tommy was certain they could have. Maybe he figured she was safer in Manberg, but Tommy reckoned he would be furious if Wilbur left him alone in Manberg for as long as they had left Niki there.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But then again, Wilbur had run to her aid when Schlatt had gone on his, "you've been a thorn in my side" tangent. He had protected her, though he was bony and unarmored and quivering from both adrenaline and malnourishment. And Techno, despite having gone on a maniacal rampage only seconds before, had stood valiantly at his side, protecting them both. So maybe there was still hope for his brothers, no matter how slim. That didn't mean he wasn't terrified of them. That didn't mean he wasn't angry.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll be honest with you," Tommy said. "The guy's been off his rocker ever since… well, Fundy said something to him."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Fundy…?" Niki asked, curious.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I wasn't really there. I couldn't say. I just know he started getting all crazy and shit after that. He told me… just, a bunch of stuff," he sighed. "Stuff I can't get into right now. Too much on the mind. Will you two come walk with me?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Of course," Niki said, and Tubbo nodded along with her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh…!" Tubbo exclaimed suddenly, running to the other side of the room and quickly lugging Tommy's jukebox up off the ground. "You reckon we can play some tunes?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy smiled. This was the sort of thing he'd miss.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They walked for what felt like ages, but was really only minutes. The sky was a light, rusty red that Tommy would have thought looked pretty if it weren't for all the carnage he associated with the color. But Tubbo put the jukebox down on the forest floor at the base of the great oak they intended to climb, and Tommy helped hoist Niki up onto the first branch, and they all sat there at the top as the sweet notes of Blocks played beneath them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Wilbur's gone crazy," Tommy said as the sun finally began to rise above the trees. "All he cares about is violence and-" He pushed his hands up into his face and sighed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"That's not the Wil I know," Niki said mournfully.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"We can't go down now. We're… alright. We're all okay for now," Tommy said. He almost said that they had to stay together, but he didn't want to lie to them like that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes, we are. And we'll figure something out," Niki replied, though she almost said they had to keep fighting. That was the point, though, wasn't it? To convince Will to stop fighting. "As long as we stick together."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And though neither of them caught it because Niki was too worried about her friends and Tommy was too caught up in his guilt, Tubbo's voice warbled awkwardly as he said, "Yeah!" because he had never been good at lying to Tommy or Niki in particular. It was a rather new skill, actually. And he felt awful.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The three guilty parties sat together in uneasy silence. The moment would have been more powerful, more meaningful, had any of them meant what they said, but all they could do was share sidelong glances and cower whenever they caught each other's eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Fuck…" Tommy sighed, dejected.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It's gonna be alright," Niki told him, and that, at least, was something she believed. She patted both her friend's backs comfortingly and repeated, "It's gonna be alright." like it was a mantra that needed to be spoken into existence. Because even if it was the truth, even if she had Dream's word, she had to be cautious. And her heart still hurt so bad.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"... Well, damn. What do we do now?" Tubbo said, a nervous laugh barely breaking it's way into his voice as he gestured to the suit Schlatt had forced him to wear. "I mean, I just got this suit…!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Just burn it," Tommy replied, face turning sour. "Schlatt is a villain. He killed you tonight and proved it. All he wants is power."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy wondered if he was just the same.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, that sounds about right," Tubbo agreed, as if he hadn't given that much thought before. He'd been spending too much time with Schlatt, Tommy reckoned. At least that wouldn't be a problem anymore. "Hey, let's get back. I need to sleep some of this off."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Amen to that," Tommy agreed. "But I think I'm going to stick out here for a little bit, if that's okay."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll walk back with you to Pogtopia," Niki told Tubbo, slowly clambering down the sturdy tree branches and dropping to the ground with a huff. Tubbo followed suit, humming along to Blocks until Tommy couldn't hear him anymore.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed again. He'd been doing that a lot lately. He had a lot to sigh about.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Hello."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy almost fell out of the tree.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Standing down by the trunk was Dream, his painted smile as unsettling as ever. Tommy didn't like to make deals with Dream, but there were higher stakes than usual this time, and it wasn't like he hadn't had fruitful deals with Dream before.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Er, how do?" Tommy asked, trying to hide his initial fear.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm well, Tommy. How are you?" he asked, and Tommy felt a bit of relief fill him. Well, luckily for Tommy, Dream was feeling friendly today. This couldn't be said always. Dream was a bit of a boogeyman for him when he was younger. He'd remember him shouting, "I want to see white flags, outside your base, by tomorrow, or you are dead," for the rest of his life. He was cool and unsociable occasionally, but it wasn't infrequent to catch him in moods such as these either.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Er, honestly, Dream? I'm sort of down in the dumps," Tommy replied. Without going into much detail, he asked, "Dream, how do you know when you're doing what's best?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, you-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"No, I mean, how do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>know. How do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> decide, Dream?" Tommy asked, putting emphasis on the "you." Dream was not bound to conventional rules. This was, after all, his SMP. Tommy was genuinely curious how such a powerful being made his decisions. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, how do I know when I'm doing what's best?" Dream repeated. He hummed and covered his painted mouth with his fist as though he were deep in thought. "I guess I just think about how it benefits me."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"And if someone's in your way?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Ask them to move," Dream said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. "And if they won't, just cut them down."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"But don't you feel guilty?" Tommy asked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What's there to feel guilty over. I just did what was best for me," Dream shrugged. "Tommy, what is this </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>about?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm just thinking about the deal we made. I don't know… if it's right. Morally speaking," Tommy explained.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream, for whatever reason, found that to be the funniest thing in the world. He laughed for almost a full minute, before wiping away an imaginary tear and shimmying up the tree to sit next to Tommy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, Tommy, think about it like this," he said. "You put everything to the side for these people, from the very beginning. For your country. And they haven't given up </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You fought so hard and now they're trying to ruin it. I hardly call that fair," Dream said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It </span>
  <em>
    <span>isn't</span>
  </em>
  <span> fair," Tommy agreed, nodding his head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"So, what you're doing? It's right. I mean, you gave up two of your disks for L'manberg. It's about time you started putting yourself first," Dream said, and patted him on the shoulder. "Now get outta this tree. It's my turn to watch the sunrise and think about my morally reprehensible actions."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Niki got home to Pogtopia, she sent Tubbo right to his bed in the archives. Then she checked in on Technoblade, though she made sure not to catch his attention, from where he was in his little farming area. Lastly, she went searching for Wilbur.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The ravine was bigger than she first thought, and though this wasn't her first time seeing her revolutionist friends, this </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> her first time properly seeing Pogtopia itself. It could fit so many people. Still, it was too close to L'manberg to be anything other than temporary, and thinking of staying somewhere with no sunshine would not be enticing to even the most desperate of people. (Then again, she was the most desperate of people, and Pogtopia looked like paradise in comparison to Schlatt's Manberg.)</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But because the ravine was so big, there were some places the high-hanging lanterns did not reach. Niki, in all her soft-spokenness and desire for a quiet life, was not used to the eerie silence. As she went further and further into the ravine, the rhythmic scraping of Technoblade's hoe against soil was growing weaker, and the continuous dripping from deep within the cavern seemed to grow even more echoey. Niki had been in a cave before, was familiar with how they turned chilly and wet when you got to areas with large bodies of water nearby, and understood the ravine was exceptionally close to several lakes, but it didn't make the damp cold any less ominous.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She began to shake, though from fear or from the nipping cold, she did not know. Still, she did not call out to anyone. For as much as she feared being alone down there, she feared rousing whatever laid in its depths even more.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But she was not alone very long, because Niki soon found herself accompanied by a shrill, abrasive dragging sound. It was like metal against stone. It probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> metal against stone, but as useless as her eyes were in the darkness, she could barely make out the silhouette of her poor, poor friend.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Wilbur?" she called, wincing at how her voice bounced off the walls, mocking.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Niki," Wilbur turned slowly, and she caught the glint of his eyes reflecting the hanging lanterns far behind them. There was another glint, something in Wilbur's hand, but he quickly moved it into his pocket. "How are you?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm okay, Wil. I was wondering how you are, actually," she said, daring to come a little closer. For what it was worth, Wilbur had stood by her tonight, even when he himself was weak and frail. That meant, in spite of whatever had made Wilbur this way, their friendship was still intact. "What are you up to?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I… admittedly, I don't know, Niki. About either question. Come take a look," Wilbur gestured for her to come even closer, and that friendliness was all Niki needed to step into Wilbur's space completely and marvel at what he had done.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was hard to see at first, but there were deep, long cuts up the cave walls. She didn't need to read all of it to tell what it said (She wouldn't have been able to anyhow. It was too dark.), but she asked anyway.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What's this?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"The song, Niki," Wilbur sounded a bit meeker than he had only a bit ago. When he was encouraging Technoblade to rip Tommy's eyes out and shouting for Tommy to bite him. When he told his brothers to go fight in a pit. "You know the song. I sang it to you before. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I heard there was a special place, where men could go and emancipate, the brutality-</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"And the tyranny of their rulers," Niki finished, mouth pulled into a grim smile. "I remember it, Wil."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur smiled back, but there was something off about it. Maybe it was just the dark, or maybe it was the way he inclined his head to her. Something about it just seemed manic.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Wil, I don't know if we can go back anymore," she said, finally. She had been meaning to find Wilbur for a while now. To finally enact her and Dream's agreement. Though Niki wasn't really bound to do anything by the contract she'd signed, Dream had made her a promise. The document was more about making sure Dream stuck to his word anyway. She hadn't had the opportunity to meet up with Wilbur for a while now, though. But she suspected, after the festival's little massacre, she'd have plenty of time now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur tilted his head at her and let out a little breathless chuckle that Niki didn't necessarily like. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Trust me, if you think security's gonna increase after all that, don't worry about it. Punz and Ponk aren't invincible."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, it's just… we can't go back," she said. "And not because of the festival either. I've just been thinking, maybe it's time we go. Pack up. Find a new place to live."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"What?" Wilbur eyes her suspiciously. "Why? What are you saying?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I just think it would be safer."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"But it's L'manberg! Give up on L'manberg?!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"No, Wil, and I'm not saying forever, but…" she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "L'manberg is pretty much ruined."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She could practically hear Dream in her ear, "</span>
  <em>
    <span>And phrase it just like that.</span>
  </em>
  <span>" It was really nauseating. She felt like she was screwing it all up, but she had to trudge forward.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"So not even you care about it anymore," he smiled at her in a warm way that would have soothed her in the past, but worried her now. Oh, Wil, poor Wil.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It's not that I don't care! I just can't let anyone else get hurt!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"We all die eventually, Niki!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"But we don't have to!" she cried out. "We could be okay again! Don't you want that? Don't you want it all to get better?"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>God, the dark felt suffocating. Their voices were echoing like mockingbirds, acting out their anguish like it was a game. The cave only got colder.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>It's not going to get better, Niki! It's never going to get better!</span>
  </em>
  <span>" he shouted, clutching the sides of his head like he was worried it was going to fall off. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>All I can do is keep going! All I can do is ruin everything around me! Don't you get that?!</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"... Everything alright over there?" Niki heard Technoblade shout from a good distance away.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Niki and Wilbur looked at each other, and it felt like they were really looking each other in the eye for the first time. Niki let Techno's echo fade away as she stared at Wilbur, put her hand on top of one of the ones he was holding his head with, and whispered, "It's okay, Wil. Let yourself be okay."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then she turned down the tunnel and called back to Techno, "It's fine! Nothing to worry about!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur stood there and let Niki's echo reverberate around him. No longer was it haunting. No longer was it japing him. It was just Niki's echo. And Niki was here, in Pogtopia, with his brothers and Tubbo. And everyone was alive. He wanted to wrap them all up in a blanket and hold onto them and never let go, but he also wanted to destroy them all in a fiery inferno. He wanted to spread his hurt, but he also wanted to protect them from it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur figured writing his sorrow out on the wall was the next best thing. He took out his pocket knife again and got back to carving.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Meanwhile, in the white house, Quackity looked a mess.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>At least he matched with Manberg now, jesus christ. The place was in tatters after that little fiasco. But he didn't figure Schlatt was going to take down the decorations any time soon. That was Tubbo's job, and like hell any other cabinet member was going to do it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was morning now, about time for breakfast, and it was Schlatt's turn to bring it in. He protested, of course, but at the end of the day, if he wasn't going to listen to his advisors at all, he was sure as hell going to bring in breakfast when it was his turn. Fundy sat across from him, examining his nails like something had changed about them since last night. George wasn't there, obviously. What could you expect?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You know, Quackity, I was contemplating saying this, but you really look like shit," Fundy said eventually, staring at him like he had just said the easiest thing in the world.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Okay. Thanks," he said sarcastically. "Seriously, what do you expect? He killed Tubbo last night, man."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You helped," Fundy pointed out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, yeah, but I didn't think- I didn't know-"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Would you have changed what you did last night if you had known? Trust me, Tubbo dying is the least of our worries," Fundy snorted. "Well, I'm going to miss the little guy, but I'm more worried about how Wilbur got in."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"About how Wilbur got in?! I, you- What?!" Quackity sputtered. "Fundy, a child died yesterday and </span>
  <em>
    <span>that's</span>
  </em>
  <span> what you're worried about?!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"It's a security concern," Fundy shrugged. "Really, I think I'm in shock. Last night hasn't really caught up to me. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span>, on the other hand…"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looked at Quackity critically. His hair was messy and his eyes were dull, sagging like he hadn't slept. He was a little clammy, too. He hadn't even ironed his suit. All in all, he didn't look anything like he usually did. Had he really not slept last night? Fundy slept like a baby, but the rest was heavy and cumbersome. He woke up sorer than he had in years.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"... it has definitely caught up to you," Fundy finished.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, fuck off, man," he huffed. "That Technoblade guy is a real monster. I could never do what he did."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, you helped quite a bit, didn't you?" And there came Schlatt, weaseling his way through the door with their breakfast. "Christ, Quackity, you look like shit. Go do a set or something, jeez."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"That's what I said…!" Fundy agreed. Fundy always agreed with Schlatt for whatever reason.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Schlatt, we need to talk about this," Quackity said as he sat down with them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Schlatt raised an eyebrow. "Well? I'm listening?" he told him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You killed Tubbo," Quackity said that, but it was less of an accusation and more of a passing statement.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, no, I like to say it was a team effort. You, me, and the Blade, eh?" Schlatt joked. "But in all seriousness, it had to happen."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"He was just a kid!"</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"A kid who needed to be taught a lesson," Schlatt said, and Quackity reviled the way he spoke while chewing. "He'll thank me later. He'll think, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I'm so glad Schlatt taught me not to be such a little snitch</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It's an important life skill for kids these days."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Life skill…? Schlatt, who's gonna take care of all your shit now?" Quackity snapped.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"You two are! Obviously," Schlatt snorted. "God, it is like sometimes you don't even think. That Tubbo guy was not as important as you clearly think, so don't worry about it."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Quackity was not at all convinced. After all, Tubbo had not only created the whole festival by hand, he was practically doing the boring bits of Schlatt's job by himself half the time. He read over the documents by himself. All Schlatt did was sign them. He wrote all the speeches. He memorized important meeting dates. Even if he was a traitor, he was an even better president than the actual president was.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I can hear you thinking from here," Schlatt rolled his eyes. "Look, I get it. Tubbo was a real lapdog, but I can babysit myself, thank you very much. Nothing much is gonna change."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>One term, Quackity reminded himself. Schlatt only needed one term. One term and the next election would happen and he'd be able to throw his support behind some other, better candidate.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"I dunno, Schlatt," Fundy conceded. "I'll take your word for it, but I think there was something else you could have done. To keep Tubbo under you and lure out Wilbur and Tommy, too."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"No use cryin' about it now," Schlatt shrugged. "Anyway, chow time, now stop looking all miserable and get eating. We have work to do."</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And that morning in the white house was quieter than usual from there. There was a certain lack of boisterousness and life from Quackity, and Fundy figured it was best to leave well enough alone and retreat into himself as well. Schlatt was loud, in the sense that his loud, dry heaving coughs were unending. But the house was not yet divided. Wouldn’t be for a long time. And wherever Tubbo was now, Quackity and Fundy could only hope he was safe. Because whatever he had done, they both knew that execution was the wrong move. Quackity just figured it was fundamentally immoral. Fundy understood that the destruction that resulted from it and would result from it was not worth it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And Manberg, no matter how sunny, was just a little gloomier that day. The birds’ chirps were tentative now, having all flown away the previous day when the fireworks went off, alarmed by all the shouting and explosions. It was a bit windy, which only served to make the place seem even more desolate. No one liked to be in Manberg these days. Perhaps they hadn’t for a while.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That wind carried all the way to Eret’s grand castle and it’s terribly imposing towers. Though Eret would call his castle fairly welcoming, he understood it’s vastness meant people did not come see him. Well, he liked to think that was why anyway. That might not have been the actual reason. Actually, he might have figured the reason out by now, but he liked to pretend he didn’t. Because Eret knew his own heart. He knew he was good, but that he had made some pretty terrible, bridge-burning decisions. Even so, he had succeeded. He had everything he could ever ask for. Beautiful tapestries shorn from the most regal of sheep. An indoor swimming pool. Access to the communication hub of the SMP, too.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Speaking of the communication hub, it had been causing problems for him for quite some time now. People were starting to complain. Without the hub, people couldn’t communicate from far away. The SMP was known for having some of the best communication tech emeralds could buy. And, of course, even the best tech was not that great, but communication technology was new! Still, it shouldn’t have been fizzing out this way.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That’s how Eret found himself sitting in the dark, silent server room of the hub, fiddling with wires. He figured a king should have people for this, but he didn’t. Who would he ask? Dream? Sapnap? George? (Seriously, where the hell was George even at?!) Don’t make him laugh. Those three would have been even more useless at this than he was. (Well, maybe Dream wouldn’t. He seemed smart enough to figure it out, but he creeped Eret out.) It was best to just do it himself. Alone.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>God, he was alone, wasn’t he?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But he wouldn’t be. Not forever. Not when Dream finally “took his kingship away for showing favor to the pogtopians.” What a stupid plan. Eret was sure he could have come up with better, but he didn’t think his former friends would look into it too hard. Not if they saw Eret all banged up after Dream and Sapnap “chased him out of his castle.” Not when they heard </span>
  <em>
    <span>George </span>
  </em>
  <span>was the king.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed to himself and leaned his head back against one of the server boxes, inexplicably tired now. He was always tired when he thought about his past. He was a hardworking man. That, no one would deny. He’d built L’manberg’s walls. He had helped tear them down. He’d built his castle by himself. But he would hardly call any of those things his most exhaustive work. What really tuckered him out was remembering the sweat on his brow as he spoke those words.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>It was never meant to be.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>God, those words came back to haunt him, even now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Glaring light passed through his eyelids even through his sunglasses, indicating someone had opened the door to the server room, silently enough that Eret figured who it was before he even opened his eyes. Standing in the doorway was Dream, in his full netherite and smiling, like he always was, quietly at him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, Dream,” he said, waving.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Still working on this communication hub thing, huh?” he asked, gesturing to the dim room of large, dusty boxes, all holding within them the soup that made the communication tech what it was somehow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” he sighed. “It’s infuriating. I tried rebooting it, but no luck so far.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Take a break, good king,” Dream mused. “Play a game of chess with me.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eret hated when Dream got like this. Something good must have happened because, despite clearly being in good humor, he had a wily way about him. Eret remembered him being like that right after his betrayal had worked. Where Dream had always been a bit cold, he had whistled the whole way home. You know, they always told him Dream was at his happiest after causing unbridled chaos. So, of course, Eret didn’t trust his rascally moods. Whatever had happened, it was no doubt terrible for someone else. But like I said, Dream was in good humor, so it would have been stupid of Eret to refuse him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, Dream,” he acquiesced.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And so they retreated from the communications hub and up to one of Eret’s many balconies, looking over the SMP. From there, you could see the prime path, the embassy, Eret’s tower, but it was not the best place to watch over L’manberg, obviously. That was what the tower was for.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Their chess games were few and far between, but they were pretty evenly matched. This both intrigued and infuriated Dream because he knew Eret didn’t really know how to play the game. Or maybe he did and all of his questions about which way he was allowed to place the tokens was all for show. Though Eret didn’t seem like the type to make him angry on purpose, he couldn’t be sure. A person who hides their eyes is hard to read, which was something Dream could relate to, without a doubt.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream took the first pawn, but then Eret took a knight. He took a bishop, but then Eret took his second knight. He took a knight, too, but then Eret took a pawn. The game continued like that from there, a relatively quick-paced back and forth by chess standards. But at the end, Eret won, effectively dampening Dream’s mood.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed sadly, “You’re sure you don’t know how to play this game?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Er, I’m learning, for sure,” Eret reasoned. “From you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>His bad mood did not last long, fortunately, as he stood and stretched. He leaned on the railing and stared over his land wistfully. He remembered when it was nothing but dull woodland. Things had changed, of course, but one thing remained the same to Dream.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>land.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He stared at Eret, his very own king piece on this big, beautiful chess board. But, thinking about it, chess was not comparable to the SMP in the slightest. There were too few teams. Never once did the pawn betray the king. Never once did enemy knights rally around a bishop. Never once did a bishop build his own rook. Never once did the king go mad with power. Never once did the king flip the board over in desperation. So, no, their situation was not very much like a game of chess at all.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But Eret, if he could keep him from defecting, was honestly Dream’s best hope. He needed nothing in return from Dream, and thus had been promised nothing. The people he was betraying already hated him. It was perfect. And though Dream did not consider himself a cruel man, he knew he was being cruel, pitting them against each other that way.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eret smiled at him awkwardly. Dream did suppose it looked like he had been staring for quite a long time, but it wasn’t like Eret could see his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He turned his head away and watched the clouds roll over the sky of his perfect world.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He had work to do.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yeehaw, finally getting into the meat of the story!! </p>
<p>this is sort of a quick update!! i sadly can't say that's going to be the norm. but it is here!! pog!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. dear phil</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Phil sits at the same table he's had for the last sixteen years. It was a gift for when Tommy was born because they'd been eating at the kitchen counter before then and there wasn't enough space for another child. It was oak. Firm, sturdy. Good. He needed that sturdiness whenever he read these letters.</p><p>"Dear Phil,</p><p>  How are you? When are you coming? Wilbur is not well."</p><p>Fuck.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Phil was a good dad by most standards, if a little lenient. He let his boys fly the nest before most parents would dare. He let them journey to distant lands from extremely early ages, so much as bringing them on trips to the nether by the time Tommy was eight. But at the end of the day, he was kind, fair, and close with his sons.</p><p> </p><p>He had raised them to be powerful. There was never a moment where Phil doubted Techno’s solemn strength, or Wilbur’s natural leadership, or Tommy’s heart, capable of inspiring others. Technoblade was a wandering warrior, feared in all realms. Wilbur was (<em> was </em>) the president of a budding nation, which he had fought bravely to declare the independence of. Tommy, though so young and still on his journey, was fostering good alliances, making bold sacrifices, and winning nearly every time. His boys really could do anything they put their mind to, and together they were near unstoppable.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, the forces they fought against had to be almost as unstoppable themselves if it required Techno, Wil, and Tommy all together. There was Schlatt, a terrible emperor. There was also Dream, who Phil knew very well from Techno’s letters, as well as his men. And though these foes were powerful and not to be trifled with by oneself, it was hard not to see his sons’ victory clearly in view.</p><p> </p><p>If only Wilbur wasn’t sick.</p><p> </p><p>As a father, he knew his sons' biggest faults. Tommy was impulsive, abrasive, and obnoxious at his worst. Techno had little backbone when it came to all things social and could come off as uncaring (sometimes <em> was </em>uncaring). Wilbur had a tendency to ignore the feelings of others and, on his worst days, had been known to spiral.</p><p> </p><p>Isolated, these things were <em> fine </em>, it was nothing he couldn't handle and it never posed any real threat to them before. But when the boys were together, alone, they had a way of making the world burn.</p><p> </p><p>Phil still remembered the weeks after Tommy was born. Wilbur had Techno convinced that a new baby meant Phil was going to kill one of them to make room, because there had only been three bedrooms in the house. Techno, distraught, had been trying his best to appeal to Phil, whereas Wilbur kept planning ways to get rid of Tommy.</p><p> </p><p>He had only really begun to notice what his boys were doing when Phil’s sword went missing, he went to Techno first. He had been interested in his father’s weapons and armor all his life and had longed for the day he was able to upgrade from his wooden sword to a shinier one like Phil’s. Techno had, excitedly, showed Phil his handiwork, only to realize that his attempt at imbuing the weapon with one of his potions had actually had an adverse effect on the thing, and it was now significantly worse. This was a source of misery for Techno that Phil couldn't seem to quell, despite his assurances that it was okay.</p><p> </p><p>Seeing how easy it was to take things from Phil, Wilbur decided the only rational next step was to take Tommy from his bassinet one night and leave him in the village down the hill. He had left the door open, though, and the chill woke Phil up. Of course, realizing that his brand new baby was gone, as well as his middle son, he suited up and went on the search for them. He woke Techno, too, but made him promise to stay in his room.</p><p> </p><p>He went to the village first. All the worst thoughts were running through his mind. Had he remembered to lock the door? Had a raid begun in the village and he slept through the warning bell? Though, from the looks of things, the village was quiet and safe. Looks could be deceiving, though, and the village would be much easier to search than the woods.</p><p> </p><p>When he ran into the iron golem and described Wilbur to it, it had nodded silently and began leading him deeper into the village, where eventually he found Wilbur at some stranger’s doorstep, gently placing Tommy down.</p><p> </p><p>That incident was, obviously, enough provocation for a serious chat, one where he learned that, unbeknownst to him, his boys had been up to this for weeks and comically failing each time. It ended in Phil revealing that, no, he wasn’t going to kill either of them to make room for Tommy, and no, he didn't love any of them any less just because of a new baby in the house.</p><p> </p><p>So, after that, life was almost always peaceful. Well, as peaceful as it could be with three young boys and one extremely lenient father under one roof.</p><p> </p><p>There was always pettiness between them, being so close in age. But at the end of the day, Phil was pretty sure there was a sacred bond between the three of them. It was hard to understand. It was even harder to intercept. Their scheming was something Phil did not miss when his boys eventually flew the nest. (Which is something he would say, if not for the rare days where the three prepared breakfast in bed for him when he was ailing, or when they pooled their money together to replace a vase he had loved that they had broken when roughhousing.) Things were different now, though. They had been travelling. They had been separated. They had <em> changed </em>in their time away from each other.</p><p> </p><p>He kept every letter a friend or family member had sent in a drawer in his desk. He read them over so many times he could probably recite them by heart.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dear Phil, </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I have very good news for you. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You have a grandson! Congratulations! We’ve named him Fundy and he is the most perfect baby in the world. He was a little small, but he’s healthy. He looks like Sally in the most peculiar ways, but it’s hard to tell. You know how babies are. They all look the same. At least that’s what I thought before I met Fundy, because he is probably the most beautiful child to ever be born. Ever. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I know you were expecting a letter weeks ago. Sally has been very ill, but she is recovering. We were very worried there, in the beginning, that the birth was going to have killed her, and the stress of that meant I couldn’t write. But I remembered just now and I thought, well, late is better than never, isn’t it? Enclosed is a picture of the little tyke. I can’t wait for you to meet him. Perhaps we will be able to all meet soon. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I know we were talking about this Christmas, but something has come up. I don’t know how long this squabble will take, but we suspect Dream and his men have burned the forests surrounding L’manberg. He’s an evil, vile creature. But he will not hurt my son. He will not hurt my men. We will fight back if it is absolutely necessary, but first thing’s first: we use our words. I know you would have preferred it that way. There comes a time the bonds that bind us must be cut, and that time has come. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Your son, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Wilbur </em>
</p><p> </p><p>That was one of the good ones. He smiled at memories like those. (And, just for the record, while Phil had largely agreed that babies all tended to look the same, that in no way applied to Fundy, who was by no means human.) Back in the early days of L’manberg, back in the days of Fundy’s youth… Not a fear ran through his mind that Wilbur would be able to take care of his brother and his friends. But with every good letter in his collection, he had a bad one to match.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dear Phil, </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Hell, where to start? This is by no means what you want to hear, but we’ve lost. Eret (You know him. The sly fellow with the glasses, the one who built the walls.) was a traitor. He lured us into a room underground where our enemies were hiding within the walls. That Trojan fucker ruined us. We’re going to die here. Dream is going to kill us until he can't any longer. He’s going to kill Fundy. He’s going to kill Tommy. He, Tommy, has made us a little tunnel beneath L’manberg in case things went south for us, though. And, Christ, dad, they blew it all up. We’re trapped down here, saying our last words. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Our last words as citizens of L’manberg, that is. Because, to keep our lives, I will negotiate with Dream. Valiant as we may have fought, he has the upperhand and there is nothing we can do to get it back. I only write to you now to inform you of what may have happened to your youngest children and grandson, should things become any more violent. I have done my best, Phil. And I will continue to do my best. To take care of Fundy. To look after Tommy and Tubbo. Tell Niki what happened, if you get the chance. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I’ll update you. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Your son, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Wilbur </em>
</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dear PHIL, </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> Helo. i am FUNDY. i am riting this at my dads riting desk it is very big and it is cool. it is my </em> <strike><em> birfd </em></strike> <em> birthday today i am five years old!!!!!!!! so my dad said i should rite you a letter so you can have sumthing from me and also so i could thank you for the toy train you sent me in the mayl. thank you very much i like trains because there are train tracks in the </em> <em><strike> DremSMP</strike> </em> <em> DreamSMP but no trains are in L’manberg where i live. do you like trains? i like them because they are very fast and big, but the carts they use in the DreamSMP are not big. i also like the TV!!!! do you have a TV now? my dad says when he was a kid you did not have a TV!!! you should get one they are very cool because it has shows that you will like and you can watch it when you have finished all your book work. my dad also said to me that you lived on a farm when he was a kid. i live in a van where my dad makes hotdogs and also does his important work and also he sleeps here, but there is a TV in the back. the back of the van is where we live. do you like liveing on a farm? i would like to go to a farm to see the animals, but i can see them on the TV, so it is ok. my dad says we will visit you soon so you are not lonely and so we can meet echother and we will also meet uncle teckno and i hear stories about him and you a lot because i hear them say you are very cool and my mom says to me you are very kind to her. ok! goodbye i will see you sum time soon. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Love, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> FUNDY </em>
</p><p>…</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em> Dear Phil, </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> It’s Niki. I’m sure you’re expecting the good news to come in, but something happened. Schlatt and Quackity practically rigged the damn thing. I was allowed to write one letter while I am in jail, but because I cannot send one to Wilbur, you’re the only person I can rely on right now. You need to get here quick. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> To recap; Schlatt and Quackity combined their votes and that means Wilbur lost. Schlatt revoked Wilbur and Tommy’s citizenship and now they’re on the run, I think. They went into the woods of the DreamSMP, but I don’t know what will happen next. I have not been paying my taxes (they keep raising them!) and that’s why I’m in jail right now. </em>
</p><p><em> <br/></em> <em> So much has gone wrong. Schlatt is a terrible man. He has Tubbo under his thumb right now. And he’s forcing him to hunt Wil and Tommy down. He has Fundy completely convinced. He burned my flag down. The one they’re replacing it with is ugly, for the record. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Schlatt is urging me to hurry the letter up, so I’ll make this brief. We need you here ASAP. Please, I don’t know if there’s anything you can do to get this whole visa thing approved faster, but that is what is happening right now. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Niki </em>
</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dear Phil, </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Hello, big man! It's me (and Tubbo). We're writing to you because it has been forever since we've seen you last. We're thinking of up and moving somewhere soon. A new world. Maybe we'll see about apartments in Hypixel, or try that new DreamSMP place we've been talking about. Tubbo has been learning to cook. Don't tell him I told you but his food is dogshit.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Hello, Phil, please exuse the writing change, but its Tubbo. Tommy is a liar. My cooking is delihtful. He's also been getting into music discs even more lately, but his taste is still, and I quote, "dogshit." </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> HELLO, PHIL, I HAVE THE PEN BACK. Anyway. Enough about us. How are you? How is the farm? Have you travelled anywhere nice lately? Techno recently told me he went to this really nice beach world and I thought, "I'd like to live on a beach world," but then I remembered that every time I ever do something for too long I start to get sick of it and hate it. And I wouldn't want to hate the beach. How has your leg been healing up after that zombie scuffle? You're not turning green, are you? Green is such a shit color. (No offense, I know it's like… your signature.) Keep some ice on that, big man. Send me pictures of all the new baby calves this season. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Catch you later, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Tommy (a.k.a. T Money, T Dawg, Big T, Tall T, Great T) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> and Tubbo </em>
</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Dear Phil, </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Hello. It's me again. Is this like the fifth letter I've written you this week? Sorry. I'm probably filling your mailbox. I'm just checking in. How's the green card thing coming along? Any news? Any updates? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Fine. It's Wilbur. He's gone insane, man. He… I think something must have happened. But either way, he's been sitting there, staring at walls, shuddering, for really long amounts of time. He's also been picking at his nails and now they're all ugly and shit. So I'm just worried and I would really like for you to come right now, but it's okay. I understand if it's taking a long time. Me and Techno will take care of him, even though he is being so peculiar and mean lately. Just please hurry. We need you here so badly. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Also, I miss you. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Don't be a stranger, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Tommy (a.k.a. T Money, Big T, Tall T, Great T, Tommalommadingdong, T Dawg, T Pain, Grand T, the Terrible T) </em>
</p><p> </p><p>And hell, that was probably the worst set of letters of all. Tommy was his youngest. He had been a rambunctious child and flew the nest much sooner than Phil would have liked, but he was eager to follow in Wilbur and Techno’s footsteps and Phil understood the need for adventure. He had been much younger when he left his poor old life behind and began traversing new worlds. He had always known Tommy would never be alone, and when he and Wilbur had ended up in the DreamSMP together, he knew Tommy would never be anything but cherished. But Wilbur was clearly deteriorating in health very quickly. Tommy had sent him at least fifteen letters since his citizenship being revoked.</p><p> </p><p>But Phil worked the farm and waited patiently, for the time when he could go see his boys. He’d recently invested in making sure his mail got sent faster, if not for anything but making sure his sons were safe. And god help him, if anything happened to any of them, he would tear that damned SMP to the ground.</p><p> </p><p>He finds he’s received another letter only moments ago and he quickly looks inside. From Techno. Techno’s letters were always pleasant. Both Wilbur and Techno had a flowery way of writing that usually did not portray their emotions as directly as Tommy’s did. Maybe it was because Wilbur was always writing legal documents declaring his nation and because Techno had always been the scholar of the family.</p><p> </p><p>He heads inside his cabin and reflects quietly. He stares at the family photos on the wall. One is of Fundy, Sally, and Wilbur all together. Fundy must have been about… two, Phil wagered. Another is of Technoblade and Wilbur. They’d been turning nine and their cake was nether-themed, with little magma cubes made of frosting. The cake had been red velvet. One is of Tommy and his friend Tubbo, holding up the head of a zombie and grinning. Had that been the first mob they defeated? Phil couldn’t remember exactly. Another is of Techno holding Tommy on his lap when they were both very small, looking generally disgruntled as Tommy looked up at him, wide-eyed. There is another of all four of them together, Phil holding both Wilbur and Techno on either side, while they put one hand on each of Tommy’s shoulders. They had looked rather grim in that photo, all wearing dress shirts. Phil didn’t know why he thought that was a good idea.</p><p> </p><p>Phil sits at the same table he's had for the last sixteen years. It was a gift for when Tommy was born because they'd been eating at the kitchen counter before then and there wasn't enough space for another child. It was oak. Firm, sturdy. Good. He needed that sturdiness whenever he read these letters.</p><p> </p><p>"Dear Phil,</p><p> </p><p>  How are you? When are you coming? Wilbur is not well."</p><p> </p><p>Fuck.</p><p> </p><p>Well, as far as letters go, Techno’s was relatively to the point.</p><p> </p><p><em> Dear Phil, </em> it read, <em> How are you? When are you coming? Wilbur is not well. He could use your help right now, and so could I. See, I’m going to help them take down Schlatt, of course, but Wilbur’s health has been… rocky, to the say the least. He hasn’t been eating very well, even though there’s so many potatoes here. Nik managed to coax him into eating a little breakfast this morning, which, is more than me or Tommy can say. But I think if you told him to, you could probably get him to do it even easier. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Things are real fucked up right now. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> To start, I killed a kid. Tubbo. I killed everyone actually, but Tommy is very upset with me. You’re going to hate this, and I’m sorry, but I killed Tommy, too. In a pit. It was to sort things out, I promise, and for what it’s worth, it mostly worked. I’m sure we’d still be arguing amongst ourselves right now if Wilbur hadn’t built that thing. But everyone is looking at me funny and I would really like to see you soon. We all would. We could use your assistance. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Sincerely, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Technoblade </em>
</p><p> </p><p>And maybe, to you, it was a pretty blunt letter, just detailing the events of the previous night, but Phil could easily read between the lines and understand that Techno was feeling far more frantic than he was letting on. He didn’t understand the situation, not entirely, because Techno hadn’t really explained it to him. Killed a kid, Tubbo… I mean, what the hell? Why? Killed Tommy in a pit? That Wilbur built? Phil’s hands shook and he let his face rest in them as he thought about the torment his boys were going through, all because of that Schlatt fellow. If Philza ever saw him, you didn’t want to know what he’d do. (Or, if you did, the answer is get horribly violent.)</p><p> </p><p>But for now, all Phil could do was wait, and that was the worst part. Waiting. There was no feeling worse than watching your children struggle and not be able to do anything about it. One time, back when they were still young, there had been a cave in while they were mining in the nether, and Techno and Wilbur had gotten trapped on one side, separated from Phil and Tommy, and Phil had gotten his leg caught. Figuring out what to do hadn’t been easy, but Tommy ended up taking Phil’s pickaxe, shimmying through a gap in the fallen rocks, and giving the pick to Wilbur, who made his way through with Techno and Tommy and helped free Phil. But listening to Wilbur and Techno panic on one side of the wall and Tommy (still a bit too young to be in the nether, maybe, Phil would admit that) start crying was hell. Then, when Tommy crawled through the gaps in the rocks, all he could imagine was him getting stuck there, which was just as terrifying. He hated waiting. Waiting for rescue. Waiting for his boys to be safe. Waiting.</p><p> </p><p>But that was all he could do.</p><p> </p><p>And as terrible as that was, he couldn’t imagine how much worse it was in the DreamSMP.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>short in comparison to the first two, but they can't all be 5K-ers. i wish ao3 wouldn't add those spaces after i use italics, but ho hum.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. brothers, still</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Technoblade wakes up to his brothers acting as annoying as always. Wilbur and Niki eat together. Tubbo, suspiciously, is gone. Tommy runs into trouble with Dream. At nighttime, it's worse. Tommy and Techno are tired.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tubbo woke up the next day very differently from the way Technoblade did, but they both would start their days with an unhealthy dose of fear. </p><p> </p><p>For Tubbo, it was a night terror. He didn’t remember it when he woke, but he woke up screaming and in a pool of sweat. He felt lucky that no one seemed to come check in on him, initially, but then realized that the door had been creaked open, which it definitely hadn’t been before, which suggested someone had, in fact, come to check in on him. His suspicions were confirmed when he found the glass of milk sitting on the floor for him. Awfully sweet as it might have been, Tubbo had business to attend to. He reexamined his suit for any wrinkles and took off for Manberg under the cover of the early morning darkness.</p><p> </p><p>For Techno, it was the panic of thinking someone had broken in. It must have been, he didn’t know, four? But he opened his eyes at the sound of something scuffling around under his cot. On instinct, he grabbed the knife he kept under his pillow and sat up. He kicked the intruder rifling through his things harshly in the ribs, and even in the darkness of the cavern and through the bleariness of his eyes, he recognized his brother’s cry.</p><p> </p><p>“Tommy,” Technoblade sighed, even though his heart was beating in his chest like a jackrabbit.</p><p> </p><p>“What the hell?!” Tommy groaned.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing in my room? Get out of my stuff,” Technoblade replied, but sudden movement caught his eye, and that’s when he realized Wilbur was there, too, staring quietly. Nowadays, as an adult, if he were to find someone rummaging through his stuff, he’d probably kill them instantly. However, this was a different situation. On one hand, it would be pretty morally reprehensible to do so. Phil would certainly not be happy. As an older brother, there was a certain expectancy to finding Tommy and Wilbur in his bedroom, touching his things. He supposed some things never changed, and that thought was enough to make affection for them bloom in his chest. That didn’t make them any less annoying, though. And Wilbur’s blank, invasive gaze was starting to creep him out.</p><p> </p><p>“Wilbur’s sword broke,” Tommy explained.</p><p> </p><p>“So?” Technoblade asked. “Go get your own. Don’t touch my stuff.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why not? You’re being so greedy. You’re being stingy, Technoblade,” Tommy said, standing up to push him. At least Tommy wasn’t completely ignoring him. Granted, Techno wasn’t sure he could even if he wanted to, but it was a relief. “Stop being stingy.”</p><p> </p><p>“I- you…! Wilbur! Go get your own sword!” Technoblade demanded, turning to his other brother.</p><p> </p><p>“But I want <em> your </em>sword,” Wilbur said, and though his face remained blank, Techno didn’t miss the amusement in his voice. Fucker.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Yeaaahh, bitch! </em>” Tommy cheered, continuing to push him. “Give us your sword! Bitch! Bitch!”</p><p> </p><p>“Go get your own!” Techno said. “Or give him <em> your </em>sword, Tommy.”</p><p> </p><p>“He wants <em> your </em>sword,” Tommy repeated. “We know you have extra. Stop being selfish!”</p><p> </p><p>“Selfish?! Tommy, this is my room! Get out! Both of you, get out!”</p><p> </p><p>“Why? Whyyy? Why can’t we have it?” Tommy whined, finally letting up.</p><p> </p><p>“Because it’s <em> mine </em>,” he sighed exasperatedly.</p><p> </p><p>Techno was getting a lot of nostalgia from the whole encounter. This was the sort of thing that happened all the time back when he lived in his childhood home. Not just that, but Tommy would come in and touch everything on his shelf and rearrange things. He’d find Wilbur just reading in his room and he refused to go until Phil inevitably got tired of Techno’s complaints and told him he had to leave. While they were infuriating to him at the time, Techno had come to look back on the memories fondly. Well, he <em> had </em>. Now that the same thing was happening again, he was starting to remember just what was so infuriating about it.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine,” Tommy sighed. “Let’s go, Wilbur. Technoblade is being a dickhead.”</p><p> </p><p>“You sure you don’t want to let me have your sword?” Wilbur insisted, to which Technoblade did not reply. Sensing the bit was over, Wilbur rolled his eyes and followed Tommy out. </p><p> </p><p>That was certainly one way to start his day. He doubted he’d be getting back to sleep after all of that. So, he decided not to. Instead, he headed straight to the farm and continued to reap the rewards of his hard work. Shortly after he came to live in Pogtopia with Wilbur and Tommy, Wilbur had explained that they’d probably have enough food for their entire stay, and that Techno did not have to spend all his time farming. And though he did take his brother’s advice and cut back, it was still what he spent half his time there doing. In all fairness, what else did he have to worry about? That was sarcasm, of course. He had near infinite things to worry about. Wilbur, for one. The incoming coup. Gathering actually useful supplies because clearly no one else was doing it. Planning his own attack on the institution of Manberg (or L’manberg, depending on who won the coup d’etat.) Tommy being mad at him. Phil’s green card. Whether Wilbur was eating. Whether Tommy was out getting himself into trouble. Tubbo. Niki now, too. Jeez…</p><p> </p><p>Of course, Technoblade hadn’t relaxed a day in his life, so it went to serve that he wouldn't start now, but boy, if it wasn’t exhausting.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t stop farming until at least seven am, when the headache from lack of sleep finally set in. It wasn’t like Technoblade had been known for his sleep schedules, but the festival lasting through the night really threw him off. Then, afterwards, between farming and writing his letter to Phil, he hadn’t been able to fall asleep until at least ten.</p><p> </p><p>As he left his little reaping room, he happened upon Niki walking with Wilbur on her arm up the staircase.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Techno,” she greeted. There was a certain lack of trust in her eyes that Technoblade did not miss. “Will you eat with us?”</p><p> </p><p>He hadn’t got that offer in a long time. Not since he’d moved to the SMP, definitely. Tommy always made an effort to eat with Tubbo over spy talk, apparently, and Techno didn’t doubt that because he seemed spritely enough, and Wilbur hadn’t been eating at all. (Not unless Techno and Tommy made him with brute force, though it was always a struggle. The first time Techno had tried, he had chewed and spat his food back into Techno’s face. That was probably one of the grossest things Wilbur had done to him.) It was something Techno was appreciative of, so he didn’t deny her, and instead nodded solemnly. Her smile, at least, seemed genuine.</p><p> </p><p>Up into the barracks they went, Niki sat Wilbur next to her on the bed, and ran back down the stairs with a promise of “one second,” leaving Techno alone with his peculiar little brother, which was a title he would usually reserve for Tommy, but one that Wilbur fit into lately. He sized him up. Wilbur had never been very strong, which was why he had put Tommy in charge of their small battalion during the revolution, but he looked much, much worse now. Pale, thin, and covered in a layer of grime that, for what it was worth, seemed to stick to every pogtopian like glue. He supposed it came with living in a ravine, away from the amenities of civilization.</p><p> </p><p>“So,” Techno began to talk to his brother. “How did you break your sword?”</p><p> </p><p>“Using it,” Wilbur replied curtly.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, but <em> how</em>?” he asked. “The damn thing was netherite.”</p><p> </p><p>“Carving,” Wilbur said, and Techno could sense him not wanting to get into it further by the way he hunched over and tucked in on himself. He was terribly worried for Wilbur, but it was almost impossible to talk to him. He wished Phil were here. He would, without a doubt, have been able to understand Wilbur. He felt pretty useless as a sibling right now, but maybe that was because he <em> was </em>being useless.</p><p> </p><p>Like a godsend, Niki ascended back up the stairs, precariously balancing three bowls full of potato and rabbit soup. She quickly put hers and Techno’s down and handed Wil his. She gave Techno a look that definitely said, “watch how I do it,” and took a spoonful and held it in front of Wilbur, who looked onward blankly.</p><p> </p><p>“Can you eat this for me?” she asked, her voice soft. He didn’t show any signs of seeing the spoon or having heard Niki. This despondent nature was what Techno had come to expect from Wilbur until he ended up having to force feed his brother. But Niki was a natural, and though he’d been a good distance away, Techno hadn’t failed to notice that she had managed to get his brother to eat yesterday.</p><p> </p><p>“Wilbur?” she hummed again. No response. She tutted to herself and moved the spoon and herself directly into his vision. “Why don’t you want to eat, Wil?”</p><p> </p><p>“... Don’t feel like it,” he muttered.</p><p> </p><p>“You need to eat or everyone will worry,” she sighed. “And what if you collapsed one day from malnutrition?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll be fine,” he replied, still quiet.</p><p> </p><p>“See how worried everyone already is?” she asked, gesturing to Technoblade, who was sitting there watching the pair intently.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m okay,” he repeated.</p><p> </p><p>“No, Wil, you’ll make yourself sick. Please eat,” she said. “I’d feel much better if you did. Just a few bites?”</p><p> </p><p>He sighed and reluctantly took the spoon from Niki’s hand and brought it to his lips. A few sips from the soup later, Niki took her spot next to Wilbur on the barracks cot and began speaking to Techno, “I have to say, Techno, you’ve really outdone yourself with these potatoes. The soup’s good, isn’t it?”</p><p> </p><p>Techno, understanding the hint Niki was putting out, agreed, “Yeah. The potatoes are really fresh. Who caught the rabbits? The meat’s less stringy than usual.”</p><p> </p><p>“I think Tommy did,” Niki said. “He’s really outdone himself. I think this is one of the best soups I’ve had in a while.”</p><p> </p><p>Both Techno and Niki, unbeknownst to Wilbur, were watching him out of the corner of their eyes. He was sitting tentatively, and slowly took another mouthful. With that, Niki knew she had him, and smiled contentedly to herself as the three finished their breakfast.</p><p> </p><p>In all honesty, the soup didn’t taste any better than usual to Technoblade, but something about seeing Wilbur finally, finally eat made it one of the best meals he had ever had.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Tommy couldn’t find Tubbo. That was... fine. Tommy wasn’t Tubbo’s keeper, and it wasn’t like anyone would do anything to him so long as he stayed safely out of bounds from Manberg. But Tommy did not need to stay safely out of bounds of Manberg because he did not care to. That was the sort of thing Wilbur used to chastise him for back in the early days ot their banishment. He, understandably, did not want him wandering into hostile territory. But Tommy always reasoned if he was going to get caught, he would have by now. Wilbur had not shared this sentiment, had told Tommy his luck would soon run out, but nowadays, he did not find himself minding Tommy’s excursions nearly so much. Well, actually, he rather did, but for different reasons. He hadn’t had a chance to confront him for it, though.</p><p> </p><p>But Tommy wanted a good look at Manberg, so he took to the rolling hills surrounding Eret’s tower, which, granted, were not the most creative hiding place Tommy had ever found. He was almost certain, if he was doing something shady out in the open, Eret’s tower would be one of the first places he checked. Nevertheless, it was an overcast day and the cold winds meant that most citizens were indoors anyway. Schlatt didn’t have many citizens who <em> lived </em>in Manberg anyway, even though it seemed like everyone was suddenly a part of the democratic process.</p><p> </p><p>As Tommy crept through the weeds, quickly overtaking the base of the grand tower, he noticed the opening of the white house’s doors and a certain ram-horned man stepping out and leaning against the wall, with what was presumably a cigarette perched between the tips of his fingers. He didn’t look towards the tower at all, or if he did, Tommy didn’t recognize any sign of alarm coming from him. Almost as quickly as he had lit the damn thing, though, Schlatt quickly put it out under his heel and kept walking, past the white house and out of Tommy’s line of sight.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy was curious, though, so he quickly slid down the hill, careful to only skirt around what was commonly seen as Manberg’s heart- the general area with the lakes and the podium and where the walls formerly were.</p><p> </p><p>Though Schlatt was not exactly within his directl line of sight, Tommy still caught glimpses of him as they passed through unfamiliar trees. His trail was not difficult to follow, luckily. He hadn’t really ever taken to this side of Manberg, so he wasn’t familiar with it’s terrain. It was definitely far past where the walls used to be. Still, the ground was rocky, which was expected or any land near the white house, and the trees were a little bigger and tougher here. They had to be. They would not survive the SMP’s previous attacks on them if they hadn’t been.</p><p> </p><p>And just as Tommy felt like they were probably nearing their destination, based on how Schlatt’s movements suddenly seemed much surer and the way he stopped weaving through the trees as though it was a precautionary measure to avoid getting tailed (and one that did not work, mind you. Tommy was following just fine.), Dream dropped to the ground from one of the trees, directly in front of him. Though he was not much taller than Tommy, his force was one of great oppression and fear. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy had known no man who could maintain that state for very long. Schlatt was only such when he was about to do something very evil, the rest of the time seeming relaxed and dimwitted. Wilbur was only such when he looked at Tommy with that disappointed expression that he inherited from their father, or now, when he was staring at Tommy with wild eyes and whispering, “Tommy, let’s be the bad guys.” His own father, though never cruel oppressive, had always instilled a healthy dose of forced respect in Tommy with his piercing gaze alone. Trust him, there was no worse feeling than being stared down by Phil, no matter how kind his voice generally was.</p><p> </p><p>But now, Dream’s presence was enough to startle Tommy into a shocked silence and allow Schlatt to slip through the woods completely. At least he had landed on his feet. Tommy was sure he’d have a whole different slew of problems to deal with if Dream had just ragdolled onto the forest floor.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello,” Dream greeted him with a voice that, though cordial, was not particularly friendly.</p><p> </p><p>“Er… how do?” Tommy greeted back.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m fine, Tommy,” he replied. “How are you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Uhh,” he looked past Dream, trying to see if he could still see any traces of Schlatt. “Uh, why did you fall from that tree just then?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, that?” Dream asked. “Had to stop you.”</p><p> </p><p>“What? Following Schlatt?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes,” he affirmed. “I can’t have you doing that. Schlatt’s business is… well, it’s my business, currently. And I don’t know if I can have you listening in.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why not?” Tommy asked. “I thought we were on the same side.”</p><p> </p><p>“We are!” Dream was quick to say. “It’s just a bit private.”</p><p> </p><p>“... Are you dating? Is that why?” he asked in a serious tone, though both of them knew he was joking. “Ohh, Dream, you better not be in love with Schlatt.”</p><p> </p><p>Dream let out a hearty laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“No, no,” he chuckled. “It’s just a private matter.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay…” Tommy sighed. “You should tell me, though, because if you do then I can know.”</p><p> </p><p>Dream ruffled his hair, but it was rougher than it should have been. Aggressive. So Dream must not have been in anything more than a cordial mood after all. While it was a gesture Tommy was used to, being the youngest in his family, it was all wrong coming from Dream at this moment. So Tommy took the hint and took a step back.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re sure I can’t just come watch?” he tried one last time.</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm,” Dream tilted his head. “You could. But then I’d have to kill you.”</p><p> </p><p>To that, Tommy let out a nervous, squeaky laugh and Dream followed suit, laughing just as loud. But as soon as Tommy’s laughter died down, Dream’s cut out abruptly, as if he didn’t find it very funny at all.</p><p> </p><p>“Righto, big man. I guess… I guess I’ll be on my way then,” he said, and walked in the opposite direction, back home to Pogtopia.</p><p> </p><p>But Tommy was thinking. What didn’t Dream want him to see? What was so private that he couldn’t listen in on? Why was Schlatt involved? And though he was tempted to turn back and try to eavesdrop anyway, he didn’t want to risk Dream’s wrath, or worse, getting caught by Manberg. Even if he had things to worry about, this was one of those battles he was clearly not meant to pick.</p><p> </p><p>Only an hour after Tommy arrived, Tubbo was back at his side, surveying the chests with him. There was a grimness in the air that Tommy was not familiar with. It was different.</p><p> </p><p>“<em> I hate you! </em> ” suddenly sounded across the ravine, clear in both its malice and owner. Wilbur usually didn’t get loud like this. He hadn’t since Techno got there, really, aside from his shouting about the pit the night before last. And he certainly never got so hostile with his screaming. Usually it was more along the lines of, <em> Everyone is lying to us! We’re fucked! </em></p><p> </p><p>Wilbur stormed down the staircase, his face contorted into one of the most terrifying looks Tommy ever saw from his brother. Niki followed his heels, tentatively.</p><p> </p><p>“Please, Wil,” she begged.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Stay out of my fucking head! You stay away from me! </em>” he roared, and that made Tubbo stand up straight from the place he was kneeling, his hand hovering awkwardly at his side, as if at any moment he might reach for his sword. That was why Tommy stood, too.</p><p> </p><p>Niki didn’t really know what had happened. Wilbur had been smiling with her only moments ago as they traded stories of L’manberg and Fundy’s childhood and their friendship through the years. But she figured she could have recognized it sooner. His apprehension. The glossy look in his eyes. So, at the end of the day, what could she do but check for these signs more carefully in the future?</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” she replied, voice soft as though she were trying not to spook a wild buck, then repeated, “I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“Like hell you are! You’re just trying to fuck with me, huh?! Don’t fuck with me, Niki! I can’t take this anymore, I…!” and he gripped at his head again, head downcast.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not <em> fucking </em>with you! I’m just worried!” she cried.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Everyone is fucking with me! I can’t trust any of you! You just…!</em>” he screamed, eyes still glued to the floor. “<em>I’m going to blow that godforsaken hole to smithereens! I’ll kill you! Stay away from me!</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“Wilbur,” Tommy called, but his voice was unsure. Was it a warning? A threat? Sympathetic? A question? Tommy didn’t know.</p><p> </p><p>And Wilbur looked up at him, blinked once, then took a look at Niki. There was a lucidity to him that Niki felt was good. He began stammering, guilty.</p><p> </p><p>“I… No, no, I’m sorry, Niki. I didn’t- you didn’t- don’t- Sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>And Niki, slowly, opened her arms out for a hug, which Wilbur accepted just as slowly. Then, shaking like a leaf, he dropped his head into her shoulder and started wailing, which was not Tommy could stick around to watch, (had never been able to watch. He hadn’t been able to stand his brothers crying or being hurt when he was little. Phil said he was empathetic, whereas Techno and Wilbur said he was just a pussy.) so he gathered his armor and weapons and nudged Tubbo, whose hand still hovered over his sword as if Wilbur might still start something. Tubbo just shook his head at him and reluctantly dropped his hand to his side and kneeled back at the chests, continuing to reorganize and take stock. So Tommy left alone.</p><p> </p><p>It was a cool night. Windy, like it had been earlier. Tommy made note to steal one of Tubbo’s blankets, since he was hoarding all the extras like some sort of blanket-loving dragon. He’d kicked in his sleep ever since he was about fifteen (after the war, you see) and there was no worse feeling than waking up in that moldy cave without a blanket in the middle of a particularly cold night. Tommy pet the horse that they’d dug out a small trench for right outside Pogtopia’s sloppily hidden door, and it whickered in response. He ventured forth, despite the chilly air.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy had a lot of grievances to air out, truth be told. It wasn’t right for him to talk about them, though. Not aloud, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur, for a start, was his main problem. He had always been his idol. Tommy would have followed him to doomsday had he asked, and in a way, he supposed he had. Wilbur was different than the older brother he had admired, though. He was unsteady, unstable. In the back of his head, deep, deep down, he blamed it on himself. I mean, how could he not? When Wilbur’s health had started deteriorating, Tommy had been the only one with him. Techno had come early, sure, but he was assuredly not a factor in Wilbur’s breakdown. So Tommy was certain it was his fault, no matter how much he told himself it was ridiculous. Because even though Dream was the enabler and Schlatt was the man who’d exiled them in the first place, certainly Tommy was no better. And he was guilty for it, yes, but also not guilty at all.</p><p> </p><p>That was the frustrating thing, wasn’t it? He was the child between the two of them. Wilbur was meant to look out for <em> him </em> . <em> He </em> was meant to make sure <em> Tommy </em> ate. <em> He </em> was supposed to quell <em> Tommy’s </em>doubts. It’d been the other way around, though, ever since he got here. While he knew it wasn’t fair of him to blame it on Wilbur, not really, it wasn’t hard to see how angry that made him, was it? Wilbur had, so quickly, fallen from the light. (Like Icarus and the sun, right? He didn’t really remember the myth entirely. Wax wings, the sun, melting, and plummeting to his death? He’d ask Techno later, maybe, if he could stand to look at him.)</p><p> </p><p>It was easier not to blame himself. It was easier to blame Dream, Schlatt, and Quackity. If Dream had never given him that goddamned TNT, he wouldn’t have the means to destroy everything Tommy ever loved. (Everything Tommy ever loved? But L’manberg had only ever been a random patch of land, hadn’t it? It was home, yes, but the land wasn’t what made the country. The people did. And the people were what he was betraying, wasn’t it? He didn’t dwell on it.) If Schlatt had never exiled them, they wouldn’t be living in that dank little shelter. If Quackity hadn’t formed his stupid fucking coalition government, Schlatt would never have exiled them. Schlatt would have wandered in, terribly sick like he had been the day they retrieved him from banishment, declared his candidacy, and that would have been it. There would have been no next step because Tommy and Wilbur would have won. They would have kept L’manberg and it’s walls, safe and sound from the Americans who’d stepped all over them in their revolutionary days. The flag wouldn’t be so fucking ugly either. (If Niki had heard that sentiment, no doubt she would have wholeheartedly agreed. That new flag was fucking ugly.)</p><p> </p><p>But it wasn’t the kind of thing he could talk about, was it? His frustrations took form in his violence and shouting and unrealistic expectations. People didn’t look at him kindly for it. He could practically hear Phil in the back of his head, tutting patiently and saying, <em> “Be mature, Tommy,” </em> like he did when he threw his little tantrums as a kid. The difference now was that it was infinitely, so much worse, and Phil wasn’t there to soothe him when he was inevitably done punching and stabbing shit. </p><p> </p><p>There was always Techno, you might reason, but Techno was, for all his strengths as a sibling, not a comforting figure in the way Wilbur and Phil were. He was always a bit cold, a bit distant. Not for any lack of love, mind you. They were family. They would kill for each other, even when they were mad at each other. Bur Techno was not the kind of person Tommy would ever rant to. Tommy, for the record, was not the kind of person Techno would rant to either.</p><p> </p><p>Niki was here now, too, yes, but Tommy would certainly feel guilty even splitting her attention from Wilbur a little bit. Not only that, it would be embarrassing for him, too. Niki had always been nurturing. Far more nurturing than anyone else in the SMP. And if Tommy could trust anyone, Tommy knew Niki was one of the select few.</p><p> </p><p>Which left Tubbo. It was true Tubbo was essentially family to him. He could always rely on him. Tommy didn’t want his time spent with Tubbo to be a bummer, though. If he only had Tubbo and his trust for however long until the siege on Manberg, where he inevitably betrayed everyone, he especially didn’t want their last moments together to be Tommy ranting. Besides, and if anyone asked, you didn’t hear it from him, Tubbo had been fucking <em> weird </em>lately. Not weird in a funny way, either. Weird in a jumpy (or, jumpier than usual) and shifty way. Schlatt was getting to him, Tommy reckoned. Making him act all funny.</p><p> </p><p>He finally met his destination after a few minutes of walking. It was the same tree he, Tubbo, and Niki had listened to Blocks at only yesterday, . He’d been needing more walks lately. Since he was little, Tommy hadn’t been very good at staying in one place. He was always moving. Like a shark. Living in Pogtopia had only amplified his need. No one wanted to be crammed into a stuffy ravine with their insane older brothers and nervous friends all the time. Tommy wagered they’d all benefit from some fresh air.</p><p> </p><p>It was easier to be angry than talk about it.</p><p> </p><p>That in mind, Tommy was really pissed when he heard the straining of tree branches beneath him and caught the image of his eldest brother climbing the oak tree after him. He hadn’t even noticed he’d been being followed. Tommy took note to be more careful next time.</p><p> </p><p>“Techno,” Tommy spat.</p><p> </p><p>“Hello,” he replied, voice not unkind.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you doing out here? It’s like, what, 9 pm?” Tommy asked, making room for his brother to sit next to him. Truthfully, there was room already, but Tommy hoped to make some extra space between them.</p><p> </p><p>“Couldn’t stand to be in there,” Techno admitted. “Same as you, I think.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, well,” Tommy said after a beat of silence. “I’m mad at you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I know,” Techno sighed in response.</p><p> </p><p>“So, go away. I want to be alone,” Tommy told him.</p><p> </p><p>Techno turned to look at him properly.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you actually?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy thought on this.</p><p> </p><p>“... No,” Tommy admitted.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s exhausting, isn’t it?” Techno asked, and though Tommy didn’t ask for clarification, and Techno provided none, it was not hard for either of them to understand what Techno meant by this. Both parties recognized there was nothing to be clarified because what was whittling away at them wasn’t anything they could say concretely, and neither of them were ready to lay out their countless issues to the other. So they sat in a comfortable, stilted quiet.</p><p> </p><p>“It is,” Tommy eventually agreed.</p><p> </p><p>Techno only nodded.</p><p> </p><p>And they sat on that branch for a while, really stewing in what it meant to be exhausted. Techno was still incredibly annoyed by Tommy, and Tommy was still unbelievably angry at Techno, but there was a camaraderie that came naturally to them on that tree branch. One that even Tommy couldn’t ignore. So it left them to consider what it meant to be family and what it meant to be in the same shitty situation. Would they come out of this as brothers? Would they come out of this at all?</p><p> </p><p>Still, like I said, there was a camaraderie that came naturally to them on that tree branch. So, for what it was worth, they were at least still brothers. And at the end of the day, that was as good as it was going to get, wasn’t it? Still brothers. With each other and with Wilbur. And there was still a chance to get through this.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>you know, i actually wrote a completely different ending to this one where on tommy's walk, dream shows up and tommy gets all pissed bc he blames him for wilbur, and a fight starts, but i didn't really like it, so i made it a bit more peaceful. just brother tingz. next chapter has a little more focus on manberg and finding out what tubbo is up to. :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. horn of the ram</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tubbo meets with Schlatt and Dream, revealing to them the course of the past few days. At nighttime, it's worse. Tubbo and Niki don't understand Wilbur's care. A former traitor seeks sanctuary with his old friends.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tubbo with ram horns pog</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Schlatt was, to redirect Tommy’s phrasing, a real interesting character, in Tubbo’s opinion. He wasn't… evil, per se, though he definitely looked like it from an outside perspective. He was just an asshole. A senile old asshole. And that was something Tubbo could deal with, at least.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yes, this day has been recounted before from another perspective, but I said earlier, Tubbo slipped away early in the morning, under the cover of the early morning darkness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Manberg wasn't a place he could go back to, for various reasons. But it wasn't so suspicious of him to turn up in a nearby forest, and so long as Schlatt and Dream weren't seen, it wasn't suspicious of him to linger there for a few hours. And linger he did, though his mind was occupied by anything but his upcoming meeting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo didn't really know how to explain how he felt lately. Angry, scared, guilty- a mixture of those three, definitely. He was angry at his friends, guilty for breaking their trust, and afraid of so many more things than he could list. If they had noticed a change in his behavior, they did not say it. Perhaps they had chalked it up to him getting older. His ram horns had been growing in, after all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Did you know that an instrument made from the horn of a ram is said to represent the anointing of a new king? At least Schlatt said so, anyway, and he wasn't going to place his doubts upon that. Of all the things for him to make up, it seemed too specific, and Tubbo preened at the idea of his horns being fully grown in by the time he was the new president of Manberg. (His first decree would be to formally change the nation's name back to L'manberg, because they did take Ls. (Sometimes.)) If Schlatt had made it up to sound cool, Tubbo wouldn't have known anyway. That sounded like the sort of thing you'd read about in a big, dusty textbook, and Tubbo had never been able to keep his attention on one of those for very long.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo was proud of his horns, in the way that Schlatt had been proud of his. Though they were small and unsuited for goring, they were a symbol of power, strength, and prestige. And they meant he was getting older. So, Tubbo was proud of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had to be proud of something, he supposed, because he was so deeply not proud of himself. This was the sort of thing that, had he had any important parental figure in his life, he wouldn't expect them to approve of.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Heya, kid," came Schlatt's voice, as the man pushed himself through the brush. He stood with a confidence that meant, if he was drunk, he was at least handling it well. Too many days in the White House he'd find Schlatt practically dragging himself around. He bumped into walls and slipped on the staircase. It wasn't a look he wanted the people of Manberg to see.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hello, big man!" Tubbo greeted as warmly as he could.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That's </span>
  <em>
    <span>President </span>
  </em>
  <span>Big Man," Schlatt replied in a tone that was only half joking. "What've ya got for me today? Or, oh, should we wait? For that green guy?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"... Oh, do you mean Dream? Is he coming?" Tubbo asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream was, like Schlatt and Wilbur, a real interesting character. He was the villain of the world. If you asked Tubbo, he would liken him to a god. A minor one, sure, but still a god. It was something Dream would vehemently deny, but Tubbo wasn't an idiot. It was his world. He could fly, if he really wanted to. He had unlimited access to the resources the land could not provide. Not only that, he was practically undying. If Tubbo counted the amount of times he'd seen Dream die, he didn't think it would take up even one hand. And instead of being a kind and impartial god, he used his power to stick his nose where it didn't belong. For what? Why didn't Dream mingle with his own kind? Why did he mettle in human affairs? All of these were things Tubbo couldn't answer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I think he said he would. I dunno. It was late at night; you know how I get," Schlatt said. Tubbo did, in fact, "know how he got," because it was really just a polite way of saying drunk off his ass.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Then we best wait for him," Tubbo said. "The festival was his idea, after all."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah," Schlatt sighed, and let himself plop down onto the forest floor. He reached into his jacket pocket for his marlboros, only to find the pack was empty. He sniffed, unimpressed, and tossed the little box to the side. On top of all of Schlatt's other problems, he also happened to be a litterbug.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo had taken about the same shining to Schlatt as he had to Wilbur. It was different, though, because Schlatt and Wilbur were different. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur had, in his golden days, been a leader through example. His words were always so… awe-inspiring. Even now, the things he said shook him to his core. Back then, though, no matter how ridiculous what he said was, his men would have looked at him like a genius. He was sure Wilbur could have spoken them right to their demises and none of them would have even batted an eye. (In a way he had. Children on the battlefield? What was he thinking?)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt was different in that he had never earned his subjects' admiration. He had taken it. Failure to comply would be met with raised taxes (an example set by Niki) or worse (an example set by Tubbo). When he was in his right mind, his words were frightening. Cold, cruel. Never flowery like Wilbur's. Harsh, dry. Schlatt could lead them all to their demises (and probably would) and no one would be able to stand up against him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And now, it was all warped because even though there came that natural loyalty to Wilbur, to Tommy, to Niki, to L'manberg… that nation was long gone. It died the moment Wilbur had asked for that TNT. Where had that nation gone? That nation that had built it's dinky yellow and black concrete walls surrounding a patch of land that could barely support the four inhabitants of their nation, let alone any future ones? That nation that had sworn off weapons and armor, electing to fight with their words instead? Where had it gone? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur killed it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So Schlatt was, at the very least, not trying to blow everything up. That was a plus. So, even though there was no warmth in him for the man, Tubbo didn't hate him any more or less than Wilbur. Because Wilbur had been a shining light and had fallen to the deepest darkness Tubbo had ever witnessed, whereas Schlatt had never pretended to be anything but the dark.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At least he was amicable with both, as it stood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Kid," Schlatt eventually grunted from the forest floor as they waited, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Your suit's all dirty. Get your ass to the dry cleaner's or something. Jeez."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I don't think I'll be allowed at the dry cleaner's for quite some time," Tubbo laughed. "Comes with living in a cave. You know how it is."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah," Schlatt agreed, because he did know. The roughest time in his life was spent in exile. Before that, he'd always lived a comfortable life. Back then, he swore moving to the SMP was the biggest mistake he'd ever made. Now, though? As president? Yeah, life was alright. He always had booze and marlboros on hand and the respect the position garnered was nice, even if it was more work than he would have preferred. But, hey! Struggling to survive in the foreign SMP lands with only himself as company was way worse, wasn't it?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo wasn't exiled. Not really. He didn't know what it was like. To be told, "We don't want you here. We don't care where you go, so long as it's far away from us." He didn't know how it soured a person. If he was lucky, and if he stayed on the winning side, Schlatt wagered, he never would. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo was a smart kid, Schlatt had always said that. Well, he had always </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought </span>
  </em>
  <span>that, at least, because he wouldn't be caught dead saying that, but he figured Tubbo was smart enough to keep out of trouble. Smarter than him, at least.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hello, gentlemen," Dream's voice rang out like a bell, startling them both. He inclined his head to them, and though his smile was a stagnant, permanent feature on his face, Tubbo could hear the real grin lying beneath. "Schlatt. Tubbo."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"There he is…! Christ, I've been waiting forever! You know how chatty this kid is, Dream?" Schlatt asked. "The answer is, he isn't. Not a peep. I was bored outta my mind. Not even a cigarette to occupy me!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream laughed quietly and produced a fresh pack from his pocket and threw it to the seated man, who caught it with all the hand-eye coordination of a five-year-old.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, Dream, I didn't know you smoked!" Tubbo exclaimed because Dream didn't seem like the type. And for how fast he was, you wouldn't expect it. You would think for all the running he did, the damage to his lungs would weigh him down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream looked at Tubbo with what could be read as confusion before saying, "I don't," like it was the most obvious thing known to man.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt also seemed confused at this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Then where did you get cigarettes?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream didn't answer this time. Only tilted his head, slowly and stilly. Creepy. Tubbo mentally checked another box for Dream being some sort of god. Seriously, where did Dream get half the stuff he had on him?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Ehh, doesn't matter," Schlatt eventually said, lighting up a new cigarette. "Let this meeting officially commence or whatever."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Okay, where to start?" Tubbo began. "Dream, your idea was a complete success. Technoblade really went through with it. Really… killed me."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream tutted, "Fucked up, huh? Are you mad at him?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Honestly, no," Tubbo said. "I might've done the same, if I were him. He's got enough on his plate as is."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Pity," Dream said. "Might've made our job easier if you were. Tommy and Wilbur would certainly be angrier about it."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, no need to worry about Tommy. He's angry enough for the both of us," Tubbo replied. "Though Wilbur…" He trailed off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"... What about Wilbur?" Schlatt asked, taking a puff from the cigarette. "Speak up, kid."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"He's, er," Tubbo stammered. "Not well. He made Tommy and Technoblade fight in a pit."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream and Schlatt both seemed to lean forward at this, apparently delighted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Who won?" Dream asked, suddenly giddy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Technoblade, obviously," Tubbo said, like it didn't even need spelling out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Boo," Dream sighed. "Would have been more interesting if it were Tommy. Like, oh, the great Technoblade, known better as myth than man, bested by his little brother in combat."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It was to the death," Tubbo supplied, and both Dream and Schlatt suddenly went still. "Er, Technoblade smashed his skull on the wall. Was hardly fair, I think."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Jesus fucking Christ," Schlatt muttered and took another drag of the cigarette, averting his gaze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wilbur made them do that?" Dream asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well… more like suggested it, and strongly encouraged it, and built the pit, and kept encouraging it even after I said it was fine," Tubbo amended, even though it was pretty much the exact same thing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Huh," Dream said, thinking to himself. "Guess he's more off his rocker than I thought."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wilbur used to not be like that," Schlatt said, like he wasn't talking to two people who knew Wilbur very well. "He was always sort of mellow. Didn't know he had it in him."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wilbur? Mellow?" Dream snorted. "Okay."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo didn't know which opinion he agreed with. On one hand, Schlatt was right. Wilbur had been, in the past, calm and collected. Steady as a rock. But to Dream, it was understandable that he had come into his life, immediately shaken things up, and was causing chaos for him even now. So, both were true. Wilbur was both the calm and the storm. Tubbo reckoned that you couldn't have one without the other. If he was all calm, his mellowness might turn into apathy and uselessness, and if he was all storm, his revolution and innovation might turn into unbridled destruction.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wilbur is the weakest link in Pogtopia right now, if I had to guess. If you wanted to get to someone, he would be the one. Problem is, Niki's with us now, and she's providing a lot of stability for him, I think," Tubbo continued. "He actually ate, willingly, two days in a row."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The way he says this like it's some great accomplishment makes Schlatt look at Dream like, "what the fuck?" but Dream does not look back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What else?" Dream asked instead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Er, well, Niki seems as strong as ever, if a bit more nervous. I don't think that's odd, though, with what happened. Technoblade is probably another person to look out for. He hasn't got anyone's trust. The problem with him is he could probably kill me with his bare hands, even if I were in full netherite, you know?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"How is Technoblade feeling?" Dream asked. "Just in general."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well… the same? He didn't seem all too guilty, but I can't read him. Not like Tommy and Wilbur can. I think he might be enjoying the routine of it all. He doesn't really like Wilbur's outbursts, but no less than the average Joe, I suppose."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream hummed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Interesting. Go on."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, all that's left is Tommy. He's alone a lot. I don't think he can take Wilbur's… intensity. He's also been really fucking weird. I think he </span>
  <em>
    <span>might</span>
  </em>
  <span> be hiding something from me, but don't worry!" Tubbo said, suddenly a bit cheery. "Detective Tubbo's on the case! I'll figure it out!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Like hell you will,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dream thought, but didn't say, knowing the secret already.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So that's everyone," Dream said, taking what information there was in. He smiled, but no one knew the difference. All in all, he thought things were progressing nicely. "Well done, Tubbo."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, well done!" Schlatt agreed, standing from the floor and dusting himself off. "Welp! We all done here?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I think we are," Tubbo said. "Anything else, Dream?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hmm," Dream hummed. "No. I don't think so. I'll be seeing you, Tubbo. Mr. President."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Later," Schlatt replied, waving and already on his way home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Bye," Tubbo also quickly made his way back to Pogtopia, anxious to be in more familiar territory. Pogtopia was quickly becoming home, Tubbo had realized not all that long ago, and that was dangerous.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On his walk home, he questioned himself. He'd been doing that a lot lately. What was he doing? Ratting out everyone he had ever cared about to the likes of Schlatt and Dream? God, he really was the worst. But did it matter? How important was it to be good when the bad were always rewarded in this world? If someone like him, so close to Pogtopia and its members, could be persuaded, just imagine how easy it would be to persuade someone else. If Tubbo didn't take up the mantle, someone else would, so it was better him than them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Besides, it was never about that. It was about proving a point. Docile and polite as he was, he wasn't a pushover.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That fervent thought carried him home.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At the sound of Tubbo carefully covering the entrance to Pogtopia, Tommy immediately bounded up the stairs to greet him. Tubbo was never going to say it to his face because, A.) Tommy would get extremely angry, and B.) He actually didn't mind it at all, but between the two of them, Tommy was the clingy one. Tubbo knew that because Tommy was the one always begging him to stick around a bit longer and jumping him the second he came back. Tubbo actually rather liked the preferential treatment, though. He'd never had that before. And when Tommy found out what he was doing, he suspected he'd never have it again. So he savored it while it lasted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Tubbo, where have you been all day? I was so bored," Tommy asked, and Tubbo realized he hadn't come up with an answer for that question. Luckily, though, Tommy didn't linger on it. "So, so bored. Come do something with me."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"We need to check inventory," Tubbo said. "And organize."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Whatever. Let's goooo," Tommy said, already pushing Tubbo from the door and to the staircase.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The staircase was an old enemy of Tubbo's. On his first day there, he had found he kept falling off. Technoblade had baby-proofed it, but Wilbur found the idea stupid and removed it all. Tubbo and Wilbur both found out the hard way how useful those dirt railings had been, but Wilbur refused to reinstall them. Instead, they just learned how not to fall until eventually it became muscle memory. Tubbo still got vertigo on the stairs, though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And you know what happens next. Tommy and Tubbo sort through the chests. Wilbur has himself a little screaming fit. Tommy leaves and Technoblade follows. That leaves Tubbo, Niki, and Wilbur alone in the ravine, deep in their sadness and sympathy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur was… hurting, Tubbo understood. That twisted him up inside. Twisted everybody up inside. Tommy, it made angry, Tubbo recognized that. Niki, though, it just made miserable. He could tell she was trying to help him and console him, but it was hard by herself. The others' efforts were few and far between. Their words never just got through to him, and they could never just soothe and sedate him like Niki could. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe it was because Wilbur was older than Tommy and Tubbo, or maybe it was because he had always been the leader, but they didn't know what to do. It felt like they were just talking at him, not to him. Niki was the only one who fully understood that what he needed was to be comforted, not convinced.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo was the child and Wilbur was the adult. He had looked out for him since he came here. He didn't know how to just reverse that, especially when Wilbur wasn't even receptive to anyone's attempts. It wasn't expected of him. No one could hold it against him to not understand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, they all left it to Niki, who was just horrified by the others' care of Wilbur so far. But then again, it was easy to judge when you didn't know someone's thoughts. And though Niki didn't understand the way they were looking after him, she did recognize it was tiring work.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The night comes quickly, and by the time the moon hangs center in the sky, Tommy and Technoblade are back, exchanging strange looks with one another. Based on Tommy's scowl, Tubbo wouldn't guess he and Technoblade had made up, but based on the way Tommy trailed in after him and the glances they shared, Tubbo expected that, at the very least, they'd had a not so terrible talk. It made Tubbo happy. A little less infighting meant a little less breaking down into hysterics at night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They went to bed at a more reasonable time that night, though eleven was hardly what most people would call reasonable. It wasn't like any of them were working a nine-to-five, though. A revolt didn't stand on any particular time frame, usually.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, at Eret's castle, a masked man arrives, followed by two armed men. Sapnap and Punz. Neither of them seem to know what's really happening, just that Dream is meeting with Eret and it's urgent. Eret suspects that Dream won't tell them his getting thrown out of the palace isn't real. He didn't want that information leaking and, hell, Dream had always enjoyed a good hunt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret welcomes the three in, and finds they are joined by one more. George, the king to-be. Eret knows for certain that George knows. In fact, Eret bets he knows a lot of things. He bets he knows that the position isn't real, and was never real. He bets he knows that Eret was living life with a guilty conscience. Eret can't see his eyes because he wears chunky sunglasses, but George can't see his either. Instead, they exchange a nod, content to not know each other's minds, but still share the same understanding of reality.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sapnap, Punz, George-" Dream begins, and he stumbles a little bit over the names. Eret ought to get him acting lessons. "Wait here, please. Eret and I will discuss upstairs."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They play chess on the balcony because of course they do. It might be their last chance to for quite some time. It's not a long game, no, not even a particularly stressful one. Dream wins this time and he gloats, but Eret just smiles and congratulates him, effectively taking the wind out of his sails. Regardless, after the game is done it's time to pretend they talked business.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret dusts himself off, "So they don't know it's an act. What if they kill me while they chase me out?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Nah, I'll make sure they don't" Dream sedated. "I'll stop them once you reach the treeline."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, alright then," Eret said. "One last thing- what if Pogtopia refuses to take me in?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Then you present them with this," he says and shows the king a little document, confirming an order for three stacks of TNT from Schlatt. "You say you only want to help."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Is this real?" Eret asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What? No, of course not," Dream laughs. "If Schlatt wants TNT, I'll make him dig up Wilbur's."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wilbur's?!" Eret asks because this is the first he's hearing of this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Okay, no time, you'll figure it out soon enough," Dream rushes. He stands in front of the large double doors in front of him, hands poised on either one. "It's showtime."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream storms out, silent. Eret follows, pretending to be upset. (Maybe because he is, a little bit, at the sudden reveal of Wilbur having access to TNT.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You can't do this, Dream!" he shouts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream turns, tilts his head, "I already am. Sapnap, Punz, please escort </span>
  <em>
    <span>former king </span>
  </em>
  <span>Eret from the premises."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sapnap is excited. Punz doesn't seem pulled one way or the other. They both pull their crossbows on him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And make sure he doesn't come back."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Like Dream said they would, they chase him all the way to the treeline, and Eret has to find his way to Pogtopia from there. He can see how, in their haste to get away from Manberg before, Tommy and Wilbur hadn't chosen the most inconspicuous of places. Though he has coordinates, he mostly finds it based on obviousness alone. The hastily replaced door. The literal horse standing idly in a trench dug out outside. He pounds his fist on the half-dirt, half-gravel wall and waits. At first, there is no answer. He keeps pounding.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Please! Please! I'm being chased! I need help!" Eret bellows. Maybe, based on the cloak he tore sliding down an unexpected drop, and the dirt caked on both of his hands, they will believe it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At that, he hears stirring. Someone running on rocks, hushed breathing that had maybe always been there that Eret didn't notice. He thinks he hears a crossbow click. He wishes he had a weapon, but he doesn't. He just keeps pounding on the wall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eventually, he hears many feet running on stone. There's a whole group inside and he feels severely lacking in protection. But the Pogtopians will not kill him, he reassures himself. They wouldn't.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eventually, after a few hushed whispers, the wall slides open and reveals Wilbur, armed with a crossbow, notably not the enchanted one Tommy used to carry (the one gifted to him by Dream), Tommy, Tubbo, Technoblade, in full netherite, clearly pissed off, and Niki. They all seem to visibly relax when they find it's just Eret, alone and trembling with adrenaline that they presume is fear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Dream revoked my kingship," he announces, out of breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first reaction he gets is laughter.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yaaay Eret!!!</p><p>I don't watch his streams, so I had him join a little earlier because it seemed like he sort of just appeared the day of the finale, and I can only write him playing chess with Dream for so long, so Eret in Pogtopia pog!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. just smile, all teeth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Eret joins his old friends. Wilbur accuses Tommy of something he did, in fact, do. Quackity and Schlatt make a plan.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They laugh in Eret's face, unkindly. The first person to crack the beginning of a smile is Tubbo, but he manages to hold back, for the sake of being civil with the old traitor. Wilbur and Tommy snort and break into hysterics in sync. Wilbur's laugh is mean and disbelieving, like this was an old hope of his, whereas Tommy's is just that of someone who just heard a really good joke, but it devolves into a cacophony of taunting laughter that Tubbo has to cover his mouth to resist joining in on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh," Wilbur begins, wiping a tear that may or may not have been there. "Oh, I'm sorry, Eret. That's just… </span>
  <em>
    <span>rich</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, it's true," Eret was quick to affirm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Who's this again?</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Eret hears Technoblade lean over to ask Niki, but she keeps her mouth shut tight, apparently weary based on the way adrenaline and exhaustion clashes on her face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You have a lot of nerve showing up here," Tommy said, straightening himself up. "You know, in a way, this is all your fault."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What? How is this my fault?" Eret asked, knowing clearly what Tommy was referring to. It wasn't a hard guess, given that they all lived in a cave.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"If it hadn't been for you, we would have won that first war," Tommy explained. "And Dream wouldn't have a crumb of power over us. We would have been fine."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"But you still would have lost the election just the same," Eret argued, but Tommy just crossed his arms and looked away, giving someone else the opportunity to speak.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What I don't understand, Eret, is why you'd come here," Tubbo said genuinely. "I mean, why not Manberg? It's nicer. It's not a cave."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What, you think I'd want to live there? Manberg's a dump," Eret said. "... Besides, I've lived with you all before. It's… comforting, I guess."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wait, wait, wait," Wilbur interrupted. "First of all, come inside. It's chilly and I don't particularly want to have this conversation in the open."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret complied and stood awkwardly in the compact little space. The tiny stone room had been dug out hastily, no doubt, with pickaxes, but a staircase led down to a dark, damp tunnel Eret couldn't quite make out. There was also a pair of beds, one thoroughly messy and the other with its covers entirely thrown off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five other people stood there beside him. Wilbur, who was looking particularly bleak (and homeless), Tommy, who just scowled, Tubbo, looking equally as uncomfortable being packed like sardines into the little room, Niki, whose eyes betrayed an apprehension that made Eret wince, and Technoblade, who was frightening, imposing, and spectacularly confused. They all looked to Wilbur for their next step, and Eret recalled a time that he had done the same. A time when, even in bitter winter, he looked to Wilbur to instruct him on how high to build the walls of their nation. A time when he bumped shoulders with the man in greeting as they passed each other in the camar van, friendly despite the hostile nature of the action.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Okay, second, Eret: How the hell did you find us?" Wilbur asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was Eret's turn to laugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Are you serious?!" he squawked. "You didn't think this was the most apparent place possible? Everyone knows where you are!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur scoffed incredulously, "Well, apparently Schlatt doesn't or we'd be dead already."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(If Tubbo averted his gaze guiltily, knowing full well that Schlatt did, in fact, know Pogtopia's location, no one noticed.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He continued, "What makes you even think we want you here, Eret? In case you've suddenly contracted amnesia, surely you remember last time we let you in on a rebellion? It didn't end </span>
  <em>
    <span>well</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"If you think Schlatt's oblivious to your operation, you're dead wrong," Eret revealed the crumpled receipt for three stacks of TNT. "Besides that, I'm </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>making an effort here, Wilbur, man! I… I've lost everything. I tried to help you when you were first exiled and you </span>
  <em>
    <span>refused</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur takes the receipt from Eret and scans it over as Tommy tries to read over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Niki spoke up now, "Eret. I haven't forgotten how you helped chase Wil and Tommy out-- I… you're a good friend, but how can we </span>
  <em>
    <span>trust </span>
  </em>
  <span>you after that?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"There wasn't much else to do, Niki! Schlatt won, fair and square," Eret explained.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'd hardly call what he and Quackity did </span>
  <em>
    <span>fair</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Niki retorted and then mumbled, "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Coalition government my ass…</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur started laughing, then, high-pitched and nervous.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Three stacks of dynamite?!" Tommy exclaimed while Wilbur was busy giggling to himself like some sort of demented child.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Niki fell silent, surprised.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yes," Eret said. "And I don't know what Schlatt's going to do with it."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wait, what?!" Tubbo seemed especially surprised for some reason, but Eret figured that was a reasonable reaction. He snatched the receipt from Wilbur, who did not put up a fight and read it over. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, we are so screwed…" Tommy put his face in his hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur kept laughing as he said, "No, no! Don't you see, Tommy?! Everybody?! Schlatt's playing the same game! It takes two to tango! I was right all along to want to burn that place to the ground!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Schlatt's not going to lay that TNT," Technoblade promised, ever the serious warrior, just like Eret had heard. "I'll kill him before he even has the chance."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Technoblade was the one Dream had warned Eret about. He wasn't as easy to manipulate as the others, he had explained, and he wasn't easy to understand either. It was best to leave Technoblade alone because he was better a neutral party than an enemy. Though Eret was sure his natural charisma could thaw even the coldest of people, Technoblade was a whole nother level. He would steer clear of him, if they let him stay, until he understood what made him tick a bit better.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"How can you stop him?" Wilbur asked. "After all, he couldn't stop me."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Dream mentioned that earlier. Where did you get TNT, Wilbur?" Eret asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Like hell I'd tell you-" but Wilbur cut himself off. "But you know what? Fine. You win. Stay here in Pogtopia. I could use another person who will backstab me when it really counts."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If he had really known how true that statement was, it might have broken Wilbur. Tommy wasn't on his side. Tubbo wasn't on his side. Technoblade was never on anyone's side. Eret most certainly wasn't on his side. Not even Niki, who was his closest friend and a warm and comforting figure in his cloudy mind, was being 100% forthcoming with him. And if he knew that, it would break him. There would be no more Manberg or L'manberg, and Dream would have gotten what he wanted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not only would it destroy Wilbur, though, to think everyone had turned against him, it would have destroyed them all. Years of trust and friendship, all gone with the tug of a few puppet strings. Dream would probably laugh. Wilbur would probably kill them in a terrible blaze. There would be no unity between them. And that would be that. So, thank god Wilbur didn't know how true what he had said had been.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Really?" Eret asked. "You'll have me?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Why not?" Wilbur asked. "Can't be any more annoying than Tommy."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What?! You bitch! Take it back!" Tommy huffed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So true," Technoblade agreed, and Niki and Tubbo both nodded solemnly. Tommy sputtered and began to loudly protest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret smiled at the nostalgia that crept into his heart. Even if this was temporary, even if Dream would eventually come to him when the pogtopians inevitably won like they always did, and even if they all hated him forever afterwards, he would always remember his friends and his home.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, after that, it was an uphill battle of regaining their trust for Eret. It was both painful and embarrassing, but these feelings did not deter him. Dream did not come for Eret and he suspected he wouldn't for a long, long time, so Eret let himself get comfortable. He let himself smile with the rest. He let himself take their resources without feeling too guilty. He let himself feel like he was home.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soon, it seemed like the others unease around him almost faded. Tommy and Tubbo still jumped when he entered a room occasionally, and he worried it would never stop, not when he had been the one to haunt their nightmares all this time, but they were friendly now and they let him in on their jokes. Wilbur still regarded him with an air of skepticism, but that was true of everyone. Niki smiled with him now, too, and he could tell that she had put his past actions to the side entirely and was ready to be friends again. Though he was never often alone with Technoblade, he could tell he wasn't all that anxious about his staying there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was only five days of work. That was just the power that came naturally to Eret, though. So, after five magical days, they almost forgot anything was ever wrong. Tommy and Tubbo forgot about their coming presidencies. Niki forgot about leaving Manberg in the dust. Wilbur seemed to forget about blowing up Manberg, at least a bit, even though he was still acting extremely odd by most people's standards. Even Technoblade forgot about his own, personal attack on the institution of Manberg.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then there was the sixth day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret sensed it in the air that morning when he woke up. It was going to be a shitty day. Nevertheless, he trudged onward. There was nothing he could do to stop it. So he woke up, ate breakfast, and got to work. Currently, the project Wilbur seemed to want everyone's attention on was a strategy room. Eret thought it was a rather good idea. Talking strategy in that jam-packed little room they called the barracks wasn't really turning the cogs in his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first thing he noticed that shit day was a peculiar lack of Tubbo. It wasn't unusual, he supposed, for Tubbo to be out and about, but he was usually there in the mornings. If he did leave, he usually took Tommy with him, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which meant, sitting in Pogtopia and bored out of his mind, was Tommy. He wasn't doing much besides following everyone around and pestering them, which wasn't out of character. However, everyone else was a bit high strung today and clearly weren't in the mood for Tommy's taunting, which was only making the situation worse. So, by noon, Tommy took off as well. To find Tubbo or get a peek at Manberg, maybe, Eret didn't know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur was having one of his more episodic days. He was pacing the ravine in long stretches, bracing his hand on the wall as if he thought he might fall. Niki, who was helping Eret dig out the first layer of the new strategy room, kept stopping to look past the bridge, down at Wilbur who was mumbling to himself like a madman. He hadn't even eaten that morning. She was right to be worried.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret hadn't seen Technoblade at all. Maybe he, too, had left early in the morning. Perhaps he'd just never stopped farming. Whatever the answer, Eret was still too cautious to check.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Tubbo came back, Wilbur fixed him with a hard look that made him scurry off into the archives. Eret sensed the tension in the air and sought to relieve it, so he called out to Wilbur.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hey! What do you think of the dimensions for the strategy room?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur looked back at him from his place at the bottom of the ravine for a long time, barely illuminated by the hanging lights. Then, slowly and steadily, he made his way up the stairs, precariously balanced on the bridge, and arrived at the platform they were mining in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"... Ceiling's fine," he said at last. "Can't make it much wider or else I don't think the support pillar will hold."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Alright," he said, nodding. "Thanks, Wil."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wil, it's about lunch time, isn't it?" Niki asked. It was a couple hours past twelve by now, which was a bit late for lunch, but far too early for dinner. "Come eat with me."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I don't want to," Wilbur sighed. "I have an upset stomach. You best eat without me."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You can't even stomach some soup?" she asked. "It might make you feel better."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes turned cold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Just drop it," he said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And, lips pursed, she did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then, quite suddenly, Eret caught sight of Tommy bolting down the stairs. He didn't seem to be in any particular rush. He just wasn't one to move slowly. Wilbur did, too, and he called after him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Tommy," he said, voice echoing down the ravine like a mocking twin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Er, yeah?" Tommy called back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Where have you been," he asked as he made his way down the stairs. Eret didn't want to say, but Wilbur had really fallen off. Not only did he look homeless, he was almost skeletal. He was clearly quite ill. He'd also been in the worst humor Eret had ever seen him in. Worse than when Sally left, worse than when he went to surrender their independence to Dream, and worse than when he read out the election results.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Just walking and all," he shrugged. "Can't stay stuck in this stuffy cave all day. I have to stretch my legs."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What, walking?" Wilbur scoffed. "That's all. Are you still taking your little excursions to Manberg, huh?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Niki grip her pickaxe a little tighter. The tension in the air was so thick, he could have sworn you could really see it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, yeah," Tommy said, seeming a bit nervous.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You know, I think it's really funny they haven't caught you snooping around yet," Wilbur said noncommittally. "It's almost like… they know you're there."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, they don't, big man," he said, smiling now. "Or else I'd be dead! That's why they call me the spy of the century. I'm very stealthy."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Maybe stealthier than I thought," Wilbur said lowly. "Tell me what you're really doing there, Tommy. You're a mole, aren't you?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What?!" Tommy shrieked. "I'm no fucking mole!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(But he was… or, well, would be, because Dream had promised him the role of emperor. It wasn't like he could tell Wilbur that, though.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, please," Wilbur replied, rolling his eyes. "Stop fucking lying to me, man! First Technoblade and now you! It's fine, Tommy, really! I should have known! I mean, really, that's </span>
  <em>
    <span>my bad</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>I'm not a fucking mole!</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Like hell you aren't!</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Wilbur screamed. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Don't fuck with me, Tommy! I know what you're doing! You must be! Where else do you go everyday?!</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>You know what?</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Tommy asked. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>F to the U to the C K you, man.</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he storms off, right back up the stairs and Wilbur has half a mind to follow him, but he refrains. Then, sensing the others' eyes on him, he shouts, "What?! Mind your business!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he descends further into the ravine, to that dark corner that Niki found him at before, and for all their silence, they soon hear the scraping of metal against stone. Eret and Niki lock eyes, debating to themselves whether it's worth it. Whether they should go after Wilbur or Tommy, at risk to themselves. Eret, instead, clenches his pickaxe a little tighter and continues mining the new room. Niki hesitantly follows.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, in Manberg, the mood was a little better than it was last. Things were certainly more difficult without Tubbo. Suddenly Quackity realized what a dump the White House really was without the kid picking up after them. It began to stink like booze in there, too, without anyone willing to clean Schlatt's numerous bottles. Fundy had the pleasure of taking his work outside. Quackity did not.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Some days, he hated Schlatt. He really did. It was difficult to not hate him. For all that he was Quackity's friend, he was also his adversary. Where they were meant to be equals in every way but meaningless title, their imbalance shone through to all that saw them. Quackity worked harder and cared more. Schlatt was an idiot. Quackity was getting laughed out of board meetings almost daily. Schlatt had all the power.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That wasn't fair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But like I said, Schlatt was still his friend, and Quackity still figured the old man might keel over by himself anyway, no intervention needed, with his habits. That wasn't even to say Quackity wanted him to. Half the time, Schlatt was tolerable. The other half, Quackity figured an arrow between the eyes was in order. Either way, he wasn't going to do anything brash.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So imagine Quackity's surprise when Schlatt told him just that- to do something brash.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I see that Tommy kid here all the time, sticking his nose in our business," Schlatt sighed into his bottle, which he had before kept hidden in a paper bag for the sake of appearances, but now let hang open. It wasn't anywhere near empty yet, but Quackity knew it would be within the hour.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So? We ain't got much to hide that he can see from so far away," Quackity had shrugged. "If you want us to chase him off, just say the word."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Nah, 's a good thing, actually," he said. "Because I have a master plan, or, well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dream </span>
  </em>
  <span>has a master plan."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"... I'm listening."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"We need to fake a falling out," he said after a particularly long sip from his bottle. "Maybe about the White House coming down. You built this thing with Wilbur and Tommy, didn't ya?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, yeah, but it isn't more valuable than my job," Quackity sputtered. "What the hell are you even talking about, man?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Here's the idea," Schlatt began. "Next time Tommy comes snooping 'round here, we start deconstruction on the White House. You get upset because you built it and don't want to take it down. I make fun of your shitty arms or something. You quit and storm off, and head to the woods to blow off steam. Thoughts?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"They'd never buy it. Wilbur and Tommy both know how much I care about Manberg," Quackity scoffed. "And my arms </span>
  <em>
    <span>are not </span>
  </em>
  <span>shitty."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, whatever," Schlatt said. "You're just mad you're gonna have to sleep in a cave."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Of course I'm fucking mad I'm gonna have to sleep in a cave!" he replied. "I don't want spiders and shit in my hair!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt turned his gaze to the beanie Quackity always wore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"... I was under the impression that you were bald."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity sighed, "... Ugh, whatever, man. If you think it'll work, fine, but don't be surprised when they don't fall for it."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt just smiled at him, all teeth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So Quackity smiled back.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Wilbur: you're a spy<br/>Tommy: i'm not<br/>Everyone else in Pogtopia: 👀</p><p>Anyway, next chapter is just a rly long Fundy monologue, but good! Because i have been slacking in that department</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. fundy alone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He had a feeling he was, for whatever reason, preparing a goodbye. No goodbye ever came, of course, but it was just a feeling. For the record, Fundy had a pretty bad track record with being left behind. He knew when someone was packing their bags mentally. It wasn't just a suspicion, it was an expectation.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>honestly, this chapter doesn't add much to the story. It's just a look into Fundy's mind and his abandonment issues.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Fundy hadn't had someone who had his back in a long, long time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>First, there was his mother, Sally. He was a bit too young to remember much about her, though he strained to keep what he did. She was a salmon, and she was beautiful (though that was more something his dad had told him.) She had a wonderful singing voice, just like a siren, and she had sung to Fundy when he was small, with Wilbur accompanying her on the guitar. She was an accountant, and a damn good one, though Fundy did not know what accounting constituted, aside from math and money. An understanding of numbers was something he had inherited from her, whereas Wilbur had been the one to teach him to write and read.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All good things come to an end, though, and his mother swam away with the other hybrids long ago. Wilbur was crushed, but held Fundy close, and made sure he knew how much Sally had loved him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Had she really?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Fundy wondered, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Or was that a lie to protect him? </span>
  </em>
  <span>And though Wilbur had lied to him about many things before, like how good he was at soccer and whether Sant Claus was real, he knew, from the deepest depths of his heart, that Wilbur had not lied about that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His father had been crushed after Sally's departure, but he had not left Fundy, and he would not for many, many years. He was always Fundy's biggest fan and closest family member. Because of the war breaking out in Fundy's infancy, he did not have much contact with his extended family, so Wilbur provided him all the love and care a man could possibly hold in his heart. Fundy's good grades and childhood drawings were always on the fridge. He had every gift he asked for every Christmas, without fail. Wilbur attended each sports event or recital. He was a grade A dad in almost every degree.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was only one problem. His attention was unending and eventually became a burden to Fundy. At first, there was the struggle of just trying to live up the great expectations his father so clearly had for him. If Wilbur treated him like the best, Fundy had to be the best, didn't he? And though Wilbur assured him he needn't be anything more than himself, it was hard to shake that need to succeed. He wanted Wilbur's pride to be more than just a given. He wanted his father's complete respect. To be seen as his own man.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur would never give him that. Forever and always, he would be his father's "little champion," and never anything else. And because he'd never been without his father's affection, it was hard now. Wilbur hated him and that was a blow he could never withstand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(For the first time ever, Wilbur was </span>
  <em>
    <span>disappointed </span>
  </em>
  <span>in him. That was new to both of them. And though neither understood it, it's worth mentioning that no matter what he said, Wilbur did not </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate </span>
  </em>
  <span>Fundy. He had just put him on such a high pedestal and had always expected his complete loyalty. The grief of not having it and being away from his home and his family ruined him. To reconcile, both would need to heal from each other's actions. It would only take time. Time Wilbur would not have if he blew up Manberg.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nowadays, he looked to Schlatt. Imperious. Powerful. He slotted into his life where Wilbur would have been, naturally, as the new president. But Schlatt was not his father, and though he looked at him with the utmost admiration, it was quickly seeping away into a profound and deep disappointment. Fundy had been let down many times before, but no person was a bigger letdown than Schlatt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So the diary grew longer and longer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was 1/3 state secrets, 2/3 personal ramblings about how he felt about it all, which Fundy figured was a healthy mix for a diary. It was written in four different pens by now, because the first had run out of ink, and the next two Fundy lost. The fourth wrote in red ink and he had borrowed it from Quackity, who had taken it from Schlatt's desk, and when Fundy thought of that fact, he laughed. Imagine a pen that was once yours coincidentally falling into the hands of the very person plotting your downfall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, it was all a precautionary measure, and it was all done per request of Eret and Dream, but if Tubbo was a "damn good spy," then Fundy was an excellent one. Unlike Tubbo, he wouldn't get caught, and unlike Tubbo, he would keep his hand to his chest until the time came to reveal it. His rebellion was quiet and paved with bad intentions, but it was a rebellion nonetheless, and Fundy was an excellent spy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sticking it to the man was more Wilbur's tune. Bringing the man grovelling to his knees was Fundy's. He was sure no one would even read half this diary because a few spoonfuls of its contents was enough to destroy Schlatt. The dictator. The villain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy had wondered, briefly and without any real upset, if he constituted as a villain. He had burned the flag and torn down the walls of the nation created to protect him. He had no friends on his side anymore. After all, wouldn't you know it, Eret had been dethroned and George, one of the few men of the SMP he had no relationship with, had taken his place. Now no one knew where he was. (Though everyone had a pretty solid guess.) Niki hated him and for good reason, too. Tubbo was gone. Quackity barely tolerated him and seemed distant these days. No one was there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If Wilbur had won, Fundy would have been okay. He would still angst, he figured, would still seek some sort of respect, but he would have been okay. He had the inkling, and he didn't know why, that everything and everyone was falling apart. He hadn't seen his father since the festival, where he had stood, looking deathly ill, beside Niki, and Technoblade, who he had yet to meet (because something always came up for one of them somehow, and so Fundy never met any of his extended relatives, besides Tommy), came to protect his ailing father. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the end, Niki did not die, so that must have been worth something. And they had scattered like roaches just after, back to their little hole under Manberg. And Fundy was promoted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Being promoted meant more responsibility, but admittedly, Fundy did not know what his position was supposed to do. Nevertheless, Quackity put paperwork on his desk that he had never had before and he certainly felt large and in charge. That was enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Was the position only given to placate him? Fundy didn't entertain the thought. That was the type of thing Wilbur would do. He would hand him a participation trophy. Schlatt wouldn't do that, he assured himself. He wouldn't.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the mornings, Fundy ate with Quackity and Schlatt, silently missing Tubbo. It wasn't that Tubbo brought anything special to the table, really. He was just a kid, a bit spacy and generally polite. He wasn't loud and joyful like Quackity. He wasn't snide and clever like Schlatt. But without him, he found the other two were unlike themselves. Quackity had clammed up. Schlatt had, in place of conversation, taken to morning drinking. If Tubbo had been there, it would have been fine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Not to mention, Tubbo had been his friend for years. They had fought side by side in the revolution. They had done their schooling together. They had been pals. Home was a little emptier without him. He would never say it out loud, never ever, but he was angry about Tubbo's death. He would be fine, sure, he'd respawn, but he was his friend. Fundy missed him.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy spent a lot of time by himself, afternoon to evening. After breakfast, the other two split off, and Fundy headed to his office to work. He approved things now. Back before his promotion, he hadn't had the power to approve things. He didn't consider the fact that, without Tubbo, he was just doing Schlatt's work for him, like Tubbo would have done. Should they build a dam? Sure, that had his stamp of approval. A petition to make the government get rid of the festival decorations? He'd be holding off on that one for now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If anyone had his back these days, it was Quackity, which was just sad. Neither of them drank, but if they did, he was sure they'd be the kind of friends to get drinks after work, despite hardly getting along. He just didn't… </span>
  <em>
    <span>click </span>
  </em>
  <span>with him, if that made sense. (Probably because he had always been a little jealous of Quackity.) Quackity wasn't the kind of guy Fundy saw himself hanging out with if not for work, but he was funny and he shared in the occasional distaste for the president. Lately, though, Quackity had curled in on himself, began shoving everyone away. Even though Fundy knew it was not his business, he grew concerned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At night, it was Fundy's time to be free from the oppressive air that had accumulated in the White House. He settled himself in at home and wrote his diary. He wrote their internal affairs and the weak spots in the country. He wrote about Schlatt's health. He wrote, very briefly, on his loneliness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It is quite terrible</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he wrote. </span>
  <em>
    <span>To be alone. I am always alone.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He then, realizing his spying diary was not a real diary, continued:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Schlatt is alone, similarly. There is no one who cares about him. He only has me and Quackity, neither of which he really has. That is terribly pathetic. I wonder if he is rather lonely or if he hasn't even noticed how everyone hates him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Content that it'd become about Schlatt again instead of him, Fundy wrote well into the night, making sure not to leave out a single detail.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When his hand grew tired, he curled up in bed for another night's sleep. It was always cold nowadays, but he only had one blanket. He briefly considered asking Wilbur to make him another before remembering, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, I can't, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and falling into a fitful sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Wilbur had, in the past, knitted. It was always a pastime he reviled. But with Sally, the true homemaking talent, gone, he quickly had to learn. After all, they were pretty cut off from big commercial companies and he had a few growing boys to look after. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, Tommy ripped a hole in his coat</span>
  </em>
  <span>, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fundy outgrew another pair of pants</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he scoffed at the memory of their complaints.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hated the meticulous nature of the craft. The creative process was different from the one he was used to. Knitting was slow and repetitive. He would feel no satisfaction until the hole was patched or the article was done. Music was not the same. It was fun and flirtatious. Though it could be frustrating and, unlike knitting, you might spend an entire session making no progress, there was satisfaction throughout the whole process. Hitting the right note. Finding the perfect lyric. Music was like second nature to him, as simple as breathing. Knitting was not.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But, and he would concede this, the terrible, monotonous labor was infinitely more bearable with the little bundle of fur he called his son on his lap. Wilbur hummed to himself as he sat with Fundy on one side of him and knitted him a new blanket for the cold season, enjoying the domesticity that came with the task he dreaded so much.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy dreamed of screaming and buzzing and noise. He dreamed of his mother, brushing his hair despite the rabble. He dreamed of his father's dark eyes. He dreamed of being found out by Schlatt and Quackity and being gored by Schlatt's horns. He dreamed of Wilbur's dark, hateful eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he woke up, covered in sweat. It was still cold in the morning and it only made him colder. While he had never been one to psychoanalyze dreams, he definitely realized that that was probably definitely not a good one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he got ready for work.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That morning, over breakfast, Schlatt announced to him, "Been discussing it and the White House is going down pretty soon."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy had known it was coming eventually. The place was a dump and he doubted any of them were going to clean it. It was honestly better off torn down. Still, he would miss the old place, e</span>
  <span>ven if it smelled like cheap beer and cigarette smoke.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stole a glance at Quackity whose eyes were firmly lowered. His expression was stormy and cognizant. Thinking about it, Fundy remembered, Quackity had built this place with Wilbur and Tommy a long time ago, hadn't he? It stood to reason he would be upset to see it go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(And though Fundy had gotten it half right, that was hardly what Quackity was thinking about. No, his thoughts were mostly filled up with the performance he would put on and whether Pogtopia would accept them into their ranks.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"This might be some of our last breakfasts together then," Fundy realized aloud. What a bummer. His breakfasts with the cabinet, one of his few guaranteed social interactions he had in a day, was almost gone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah," Schlatt said, taking a swig from his liquor bottle. "Better make it count, eh?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Fundy supposed he had better.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The afternoon and the evening came just like it always did. Fundy wrote his diary until the tendons in his wrist began to strain. Then he flopped into bed and tried to conserve all the heat he could.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That night he dreamed about the white White House, but he stood in its rubble. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the soft melody of a song his mother used to sing to him as a child played on his father's guitar. Though he did not hear her, as he did not remember her voice very well, the accompaniment was plain as day. Somewhere else, even more distant, he swore he heard Wilbur's laughter. It wasn't a frightening laugh, but it echoed, and it filled Fundy with dread. The music just got louder and louder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Fundy woke, he almost wondered if he had really heard it. But no, Wilbur was gone. Even if somewhere, distantly, Wilbur strummed his guitar in Pogtopia, not even Fundy's superior hybrid hearing would be able to identify it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(There had been a time, when Fundy was only a boy, when he hid under tables at the sound of rain. It was too loud and monotonous, and he didn't understand why only Tubbo seemed put off by the terrible noise. Wilbur lightly explained that because Fundy was a fox, he could just hear better, and that everything was louder for him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But that wasn't exactly the problem.Yes, it was loud, but it was also all-encompassing. Everything seemed to be swallowed up by the sound. He could barely think. He could only focus on the sound of the rain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thunderstorms were the worst. There was one that Fundy remembered because it swallowed all of L'manberg in its dark song. The wind howled like wolves, the rain beat down on the house like tiny bricks, and the thunder crashes were the worst of all. That deep rumbling was like evil laughter, and it floated in Fundy's mind endlessly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But his dad made him a pillow fort. They sat under it together and Wilbur played his guitar. Somehow, even though the instrument would have surely only made everything louder, it was better. Maybe it was just less overwhelming or maybe the sweet sounds of his father's guitar playing always calmed Fundy down, he didn't know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whatever it was, Wilbur had somehow known it would help. Fundy had, since then, gotten much more used to poor weather and had learned to drown out particularly annoying sounds. Still, there were times at night when the wind beat a bit too loud on the window that he remembered that cozy little pillow fort and Wilbur's guitar.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He walked to work that day, humming that familiar tune.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Breakfast, afternoon, and evening all passed without anything of interest happening. Then, at night, instead of bothering with the diary, he sat at the river and thought of his family and friends. They did not care for him anymore, he thought miserably, not even Niki, the most kind and forgiving of the group, and certainly not his father. He supposed his dream the night prior had made him miss them all a bit more. And he left the river, went home, and curled up in bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That night, his dream was a bit more intense.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were in a forest. He was running for some reason, though he didn't know why, and Wilbur was just ahead of him. It was hard to keep up, but Wilbur kept looking back and giving him an urgent look, so he kept running.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had a distinct feeling they were being chased, so when he tripped over a tree root and saw Dream standing over him, he knew it was over. Dream had won. He was so dead. But then, like a hero, Wilbur had come and knocked Dream over the head with a heavy stone. Fundy heard the crunch and his heart dropped, but Wilbur had saved him. Wilbur then dropped the rock and extended his hand out to Fundy, who took it with a steadiness he did not feel, and pulled him up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They kept running, for fear Dream would wake up, and eventually came across this clearing with camping gear and these broken, high walls of blackstone sparsely surrounding it in a circle. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is Pogtopia, </span>
  </em>
  <span>his unconscious mind supplied, though he knew in reality that Pogtopia was underground. He had never been inside, though, unless you counted the tunnels, so his mind generated this clearing instead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They sat at the camp and Fundy wondered where everyone else was. He wondered why they were being chased. He opened his mouth to ask, but no sound came out. He and Wilbur made eye contact and he smiled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I have to tell him about the diary, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought, struggling to make sound. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He needs to know.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the dream started melting and everything started melting and when Fundy woke up, he couldn't move. He felt like something was pressing down on him. Instead, faintly in the lower floor of his house, he thought he heard guitar. Finally, The pressure relinquished and Fundy gasped and sat up, but the music had gone entirely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He checked the house anyway, despite recognizing it for the sleep paralysis that it was. Still, a secret, small part of him hoped Wilbur was really there, just tuning his guitar downstairs. He wasn't, of course, but it would have been nice to see him, even if he really didn't want to. (It was complicated. That dream, however vague, had definitely been a nightmare. It was normal to desire comfort from a parent after a nightmare, wasn't it?)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Many years ago, Wilbur had many sleepless nights, which was something that carried to this day, of course. He tossed and turned all night with memories of gunfire and screaming and green-clad men whose smiles were painted and fake. But nothing too terrible had happened aside from a few border skirmishes, and Wilbur woke up every morning with the terrible dread that there would be more. That war had claimed them. That their strife would not end for a long, long time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He also woke up almost every morning with his young son bundled up beside him. He figured it made sense. Though Fundy's fear was not so intense as that of his father's or his fellow revolutionaries, he too dreamed about the evil green man who wanted to take their home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The most ominous thing Fundy had ever done, Wilbur reckoned, was drawing their van being burned down while the two of them looked on sadly. Then, stood beside the van, taller than the van itself, was Fundy's rendition of Dream. It was pretty spot on, Wilbur reckoned, with the lime green coat and the all-too-cheerful face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But, of course, Wilbur could not judge. He understood that children often did frightening things and that the chicken-scratch drawings of children were always a little intimidating if they were not all happy sunshine and rainbows. And to that effect, he and Techno used to stand and stare at Phil from his bedroom door as children in the dark of the night, waiting for him to see them, which could not have been more piss-your-pants-scary if he wanted it to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Fundy eventually spoke up about his own nightmares, though, he understood the picture a little better. He had, on a night where he came to Wilbur particularly distressed, elected to wake him instead of silently sliding into bed like usual. He then told him of a dream where Dream had been hiding under his bed like some sort of boogeyman and even though he screamed for his father to come save him, he didn't. Then, eventually Dream's smiling face slowly rose up from under the bed and started inching closer and closer on its impossibly long neck. Then, Fundy woke and ran straight to his dad.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur cradled him soothingly long into the night.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That next morning, he had a very bad feeling when talking to Quackity. Though it lacked a certain grimness, his coworker's voice was reminiscent of a man on death row. He had a feeling he was, for whatever reason, preparing a goodbye. No goodbye ever came, of course, but it was just a feeling. For the record, Fundy had a pretty bad track record with being left behind. He knew when someone was packing their bags mentally. It wasn't just a suspicion, it was an expectation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And wouldn't you know it, just the next day, Quackity was gone, and so was the White House. All that stood in place was a shiny slab engraved with the message, "a memorial to crying about it."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was used to being left behind and in the dark by now. He knew the drill. And though he knew the universe would supply no answer and it would always be just a thought, Fundy couldn't help but ask himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>What happened here? And why?</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Fundy chapter!!!! There hasn't really been any Fundy scenes and he's the last character to join Pogtopia, so I think he deserves one of his own.</p><p>Yesterday's stream was the End of L'manberg. For good. :( So this whole fic idea feels really ancient, but the good thing abt canon divergence is that I can just avert my gaze from everything after the Manberg-Pogtopia war.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. one step forward, two steps back</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Niki lets her friend know he's being a bit of a dick. Tommy and Tubbo get in an argument. Quackity "defects." Wilbur expresses guilt for the first time in weeks. A new member is accepted into their little resistance.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Wilbur's words had deterred Tommy from venturing out for a few days at least. He hid inside Pogtopia's shallow borders, quietly, and acted like a scalded dog when his brother came near. On his better days, this visibly made Wilbur wince guiltily. He shouldn't have been that way to Tommy, but he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so sure </span>
  </em>
  <span>that he'd been hiding something at the time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was getting to both of them, just a little bit. Both Niki and Tubbo could tell, being a bit more empathetic than the awkward and calm Technoblade or the charming and cool Eret. Tommy was the sort of person to try not to take things to heart and, for fear of an unnecessary explosion of anger, hide himself away until he felt a bit better. Wilbur was the kind of person to fray at the edges. He waited on Tommy to come around, as he'd done all his life after nasty spats between them, but he was not a patient man and he could never be truly calm, so he pittered around the ravine, anxious for Tommy to be at ease again. Incidentally, his restless nature did not calm Tommy down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But all was well in Pogtopia besides that. Their strategy room was built. They were all settling in nicely. (Niki had spoken to Wilbur a few times about how "L'manberg is ruined" and "We can't go back." This time, he seemed a bit more receptive, and that made her smile. Tubbo had sold out a few more secrets to Schlatt and Dream. Tommy was still biding his time appropriately. Eret was enjoying the time he had with his friends until Dream called upon him. Wilbur was, of course, still planning on fucking shit up, and so was Techno.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But of course, Tommy couldn't stay there forever, and Wilbur had to do something to make up for his outburst at some point, lest Tommy keep looking at him like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Niki, what do I do?" Wilbur said one day. "About Tommy. I mean, he's looking at me like I kicked his puppy or something."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, there, on the other side of the ravine with Tubbo, sat Tommy. They both were looking rather conspiratorial, but Tommy kept stealing nervous glances at Wilbur. Wilbur didn't want him to think he was just going to snap on him one day. I mean, that was his brother and the person he promised Phil he'd look after under any circumstances, wasn't it? The one person who'd always stuck to his side like glue, to never doubt him, to never leave him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Niki sighed, "Wil, I think you already know what you have to do."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur turned his head to look at her. She wore a tired expression, not dissimilar to the expression he saw Phil take on when he was up late at night caring for Tommy in his early childhood or when Wilbur was being stubborn and refusing to do something. (And Tommy was always crying late at night and Wilbur was always stubborn, so Phil was tired a lot.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"... I don't follow," Wilbur said, though he had the sneaking suspicion that he did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Niki's incredulous look worsened, "Just speak to him honestly and things will be okay. I'm sure of it."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"... Right," Wilbur said eventually, turning to look at Tommy again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And, Wil?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hm?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You could stand to be a little kinder to him," Niki chastised. "He's still young. You're his role model."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I'm his role model?</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought to himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I'm sure doing a piss-poor job of it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur was unsuited to look after people, he was starting to realize. Not as a brother, not as a father, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>certainly </span>
  </em>
  <span>not as a president. It honestly came as a shock to him. All his life he'd have called himself caring and paternal and selfless. He thought he had had all the right ingredients to be a leader. Hell, everyone else seemed to think he did, too! But now, at their weakest, Wilbur knew he was the first to submit to the enemy. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He knew that, and yet…</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur would burn Manberg to the fucking ground. That place would never be as it was, and everyone was </span>
  <em>
    <span>looking at him, looking to him,</span>
  </em>
  <span> to save the day and reclaim their home. They wanted L'manberg, but… without the walls and without his son, was it really L'manberg? And they were all looking at him, and he wanted nothing more than to be done with all of it and destroy that fucking abomination that he should never have breathed life into, and if anyone stood in his way, then-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He must have been breathing heavily or mumbling to himself or something because Niki suddenly placed a hand on his back and made a soft noise of concern, bordering on his name and a hum.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Are you okay?" she asked after being met with abrupt silence. "Do you want to talk about it?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"... Thinking about L'manberg," he said honestly, though he didn't know if he preferred to think of it as L'manberg, his former home now just a shell of what it once was, or Manberg, the totalitarian state and home to all his friends. He didn't know which was harder to destroy. (</span>
  <em>
    <span>His friends would stand in his way,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the sick little voice in the back of his head crooned, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and they need to be dealt away with, too.</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I know it upsets you, Wil," she sighed. "That's why I think it's best we… give up? That sounds awful, but I don't see what makes L'manberg any more special than any other patch of land on the SMP."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur fought the urge to explode. Maybe it was because Niki didn't understand just how special L'manberg was. Of course Niki knew it was their home, and of course she knew it was hard-earned, but she didn't understand. She didn't understand how Wilbur promised the world to Fundy and how L'manberg was his way of delivering that. She didn't understand how much Tommy had sacrificed just to gain it a modicum of independence (which Dream still largely refused to acknowledge, by the way). She didn't understand how they all had sacrificed their slumbers to the war, now plagued by countless nightmares. She didn't understand how they all wrote long into the night to declare the nation. She didn't understand what it </span>
  <em>
    <span>meant</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(And to Niki's credit, she had it part right. Because she was detached from the war, she understood L'manberg for what it really was. A plain piece of land that had already been very, very cruel to her friends. A land that was not worth the bloodshed it demanded. A land she would give up in a heartbeat if it meant they were all safe and secure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But she was missing the bigger picture. Yes, the land was better off abandoned. Yes, it was hardly worth the sacrifice its existence required. However, despite that, it was not just land anymore. It was more than that. If they did not win it, then they could never win anything ever again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And in the end, both realities were true. L'manberg was just a land, but it really was a special place. And neither Niki nor Wilbur got the whole picture. It was more than just an idea. It was more than just land. It could be reclaimed, but it couldn't be restored, and that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>. No one was asking them to. Things change. People change. The best you could do was roll with the punches and accept the changes as they come. And never, ever surrender.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But like I said, they both had yet to understand that, and they were both the two to give up on L'manberg. Niki sought to leave it behind, whereas Wilbur sought to have it destroyed. What they both lost sight of, of course, was that L'manberg was both a piece of land </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> an idea. And both were facilitated by the people who claimed it. The togetherness.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And sadly, because L'manberg was a cruel mistress who demanded blood, there was no togetherness.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I can't just…" Wilbur curled in on himself. "L'manberg is not a piece of land, Niki. It's mine. It's ours."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And he curled in on himself further.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Niki had the vague and sick feeling that she was making things worse, but that didn't seem right. After all, Niki had been Wilbur's closest confidant and the only person to properly look after him. How could she be making things worse and better at the same time?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(For every step forward, they took two steps back.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Night fell and Tommy followed Tubbo to the archive, where Tubbo worked and slept. It had been a long time since they really, truly hung out, and the energy that night almost felt like the kinds of sleepovers they used to have when things were a bit less complicated. (Which is not to say things were ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>simple, </span>
  </em>
  <span>mind you, but there was a time when things weren't nearly so convoluted.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But like any good sleepover, there was an existential dread hanging in the air, waiting for someone to address it. Tommy was the first to do so.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I don't think I'm a good person," Tommy said abruptly after trailing off from some story. He was sat cross-legged in the center of the room Tubbo had claimed as his own. Tubbo was laying sideways on his cot, hanging off halfway, and he snorted at that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Nah," Tubbo said without hesitation. "You're the best person I've ever met."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He meant it. Tommy was his best friend after all. He was loyal and just and good. He had Tubbo's back and, for now at least, Tubbo had his. In the long run, when he became president and if he could help it, he'd make sure the pogtopians were safe, Tommy included. In fact, he'd accept no less. Because Tommy was, as he'd said, the best person he'd ever met.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well," Tommy seemed to droop a little bit, guilty from Tubbo's blind faith in him. "I've just been thinking about it lately. What makes a person good?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hmm," Tubbo pondered and sat up from his upside-down position. "Well, they need to be kind and strong. They need to help others when they can. They need to fight for what they believe in. And I think that's it."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That's all it takes," Tommy mused. "And you make it sound so easy. So simple."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Because it is," Tubbo said, suddenly guilty. It was easy and Tubbo was still failing at it. If Tommy, the epitome of good, did not believe in his own goodness, then what hope did Tubbo have?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Of course, unbeknownst to him, Tommy was grappling with a similar issue. If Tubbo described a good person as kind and forgiving and a fighter, then he must have been scum. He was not kind, he didn't forgive, and he certainly did not fight for what he believed in. He had, once, done all those things, but somewhere along the line, Tommy realized, he had changed.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, if it's that easy, we wouldn't have half the issues we do," Tommy replied, shoulders suddenly tense like they had been all day. Wilbur had really upset Tommy, Tubbo knew. He had shaken him right to his core. He'd shouted at him for nothing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo sighed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Look," he said. "It's extremely nuanced, I think-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I don't know what that word means," Tommy quickly interjected.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo corrected himself, "Er, complex. I'm starting to realize people are complicated."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well," Tommy said. "You're right, I guess."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I am right," Tubbo said confidently. "And I'm right when I say that you are good. You're my friend, Tommy. I wouldn't stick around for half as long as I did if I didn't genuinely believe that."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo just hoped Tommy would stick by </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> even if he weren't a good person. He had an inkling he wouldn't, though, and that put a pit in his stomach.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"... Yeah," Tommy nodded, looking a little sad, though Tubbo could hardly place why. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Erm, another thing… while we're on the topic of serious shit," Tubbo said. "I have something to ask you. Just… a little nervous to."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy nodded again, "Yeah. Me, too, actually."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo perked up, "Oh, well, maybe if we say it at the same time, it'll be a little less daunting!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Okay," Tommy agreed, perking up with him. "Count of three. One… two… three-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"What are you keeping from me?"</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They said it simultaneously and both abruptly shut their mouths in shock. It was a tenser moment than they were used to. Tubbo seemed extremely… anxious? if Tommy had to guess. To Tubbo, Tommy seemed a little more surprised by the fact that they spoke in unison than anything. However, their gaping soon became a joint laughter that eased the tension by half. It was a surprise, was all. People were rarely on the same wavelength like that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Jinx!" Tubbo said, quickly recovering. "You owe me a soda."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Where the fuck do you want me to get you a soda?" Tommy asked, still letting out barking laughter. "I've been drinking nothing but rabbit broth and distilled river water!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You just owe me one! I'll cash it in one of these days," Tubbo replied. "So, so, what have </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> been hiding?" The shock was back in his voice, the giggling gone with the wind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, yeah, answer me, please," Tommy said. "I hate to break it to you, but you've been fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird.</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I… I'm sorry," Tubbo said, preparing a lie. "Guess I got used to keeping my deck hidden, being in Manberg for so long. And, I don't know, maybe it's just become normal for me? I'm not hiding anything big, promise."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy had no poker face. Tubbo had always known that from the day they first met. Right away, Tubbo knew Tommy didn't believe him. His eyes were a bit too suspicious and his scowl never left him. Fortunately, though, he didn't press it. That was, yet again, very un-Tommy-like. Under usual circumstances, he would have pushed it until it became a screaming match, but Tommy was being unusual.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And definitely hiding something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So… what are you keeping from me?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Nothing."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Bullshit," Tubbo said unthinkingly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It's not," Tommy huffed. "If I'm acting weird it's because everyone else is, too. I mean, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Wilbur, Technoblade. Hell, even Niki is being a little strange."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"It's a cold day in hell when Eret seems the most forthcoming, huh?" Tubbo tried to joke, but Tommy still looked a bit upset. Or, maybe… No, as Tubbo looked at him, he could tell right away. Not just upset, </span>
  <em>
    <span>nervous</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He was lying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Be honest with me. What's up with you? Why are you being weird? Where do you go off to everyday?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What's with all the suspicion, huh?" Tommy asked, panicked. "Can no one believe I need to take a walk every now and then?! Can no one believe I don't want to be stuck in a cave with a bunch of fucking psychopaths?! Why do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>go out everyday?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, I usually gather supplies," Tubbo reasoned nervously.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, it's not fuckin' weird to need to get out every once in a while!" Tommy exclaimed. "I'm not hiding anything!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"If that were true, would you be getting this upset?" Tubbo wondered aloud. "I… I'm not trying to pry, but I'm a little worried, I guess. We're still, you know, being hunted."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(He did, in fact, mean to pry and they were, in fact, no longer being hunted.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy groaned into his palms before pulling his face back up and saying, "Seems like no one trusts me these days. I'm not even the shadiest motherfucker here. It's wearing me the fuck out, man. I… I'm going to bed."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo hummed as Tommy picked himself up from the floor and began to leave, "Is it an embarrassing secret?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"... Christ, you don't give up, do you?" Tommy snorted. "If I were hiding something, you'd be the first to know. Swear it."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Okay, Tommy," Tubbo agreed. "Sorry to bug you. I'm just…curious, is all."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, okay," Tommy replied, looking wearier than Tubbo had ever seen him. "Goodnight, Tubbo."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Goodnight."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he was certain Tommy was a good bit away, Tubbo swore quietly to himself. That couldn't have gone worse. A real lose-lose-lose situation. To begin, Tommy was onto him and that was dangerous. He couldn't let him find out that he was working with Manberg, and he hadn't believed him when he said he was "just used to being sneaky" or whatever. (Because it was a shit excuse.) Next, Tommy hadn't given up the slightest bit of information regarding his own strange behavior, which sucked. He needed to know what he was up to, but Tommy wouldn't let on easy, Tubbo knew. He hadn't even really gone out lately because of Wilbur's last accusation. (Damn you, Wilbur. Maybe if he weren't so paranoid, Tommy would have let something slip.) Lastly, he had really just spoiled the mood of their whole conversation, and it had been so long since he and Tommy had had a chance to just talk and joke together. Maybe it wasn't all his fault. Tommy had brought up the whole "am I a good person" thing, but Tubbo had been the one to keep pushing the envelope. The night was a bust.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But there was nothing he could do now. It was time to cut his losses and find a new tactic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That night, Tommy tossed and turned, unable to really settle. He had a vague memory of Phil saying Tommy was sort of like an overly energetic husky in that you had to take him for at least one walk a day or he'd get all restless. ("I'm like a big dog because I'm a big man," Tommy had agreed, though he had certainly not been, being that he was only twelve at the time.) He hadn't been out for a while. He and Wilbur hadn't spoken, despite sharing their room that had been affectionately dubbed "the barracks," even though Technoblade had long since moved out, electing to hole up in his own little space near the farm, and no one else had ever even slept up there. (It was good to have a set of ears up near the entrance, though, and so close to some of their essential supplies.) He needed Out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, it wasn't that easy and was maybe 2 am by now. So, with great effort, he eventually fell into a fitful slumber after deciding he would go on another walk tomorrow. Fuck Tubbo and fuck Wilbur. Maybe he was a traitor, but his little excursions had nothing to do with it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then morning came and the first interesting thing to happen all week occurred.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur woke up weak. His head hurt and he wanted nothing more than to either A.) Fuck shit up, or B.) Go lay in bed and cry it out. There wasn’t much in-between for him these days. The sick little niggling chatter in his skull didn’t let him rest anymore. It didn’t allow him to be the man he was (was?). </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the earlier days of his banishment, he would have been able to laugh and smile with the rest. He laughed at Tommy who’d managed to get himself trapped in the little crawlspace he had constructed for himself. He gawked at the field of plentiful potatoes Technoblade had put together within one short week, ensuring they’d never starve. (He did so in the way only a little brother could, of course. Technoblade had always been the brightest jewel in their family’s crown, which was not a sentiment he said with jealousy, but rather with honest admiration. Techno was a statistician and scholar.) He stubbornly ignored the safety measures his brother put in place and raced up and down the stairs with Tubbo. He’d been himself, still. The little seed of darkness in his mind had been sown, though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the end, the weaker of the two impulses, B, won out. He didn’t wake early in the morning- not when he heard the birds begin to chirp, not when he heard Tommy shift and leave his cot, and not when the tell-tale bustling of the inhabitants of Pogtopia began. No one came to wake him for a long time, and he tried to ignore the way his heartbeat rushed when he heard Tommy head out the front entrance of their little makeshift home and into the unknown world.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(He was a paranoid, ridiculous madman, and he knew what he had to do to make up for it. It was simpler than he was willing to admit.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy left at about nine am, and he only knew that by the sun in the sky. He and Tubbo had been awkward after their little confrontation the night before, but Tommy met his eye without hesitation, and Tubbo did the same. He and Eret did a bit of organization of the little strategy room Eret and Niki had built. Technoblade and Niki worked together to make breakfast this morning because, they were learning, their cooking styles aligned well in that they made the starchiest meals ever (Niki with her bread and Techno with his potatoes).</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sun was warm, but the air was crisp and cool. Tommy knew November was really swinging by now, even though it felt like he’d lost track of the days. Soon, the leaves would fall off the trees and he wouldn’t have any protection up there, and the enchantments in the pogtopians’ armor would shine through what used to be dense shrubbery, exposing them to their enemies (and Phil had trained him well, you know. That meant he knew he had to avoid his enemies like prey avoid predators. Even if he’d been babied in comparison to Techno and Wil, there was still that bit of survivalism in him.), which was so frightening it made his heart race even now, when the greenery was still there and he was still safe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t sure where his feet were taking him at first, but subconsciously he was led to Manberg. Of course he was. L’manberg was home after all, and entirely his, so it made sense that his mind would fall there even when he was otherwise preoccupied. It was home for a lot of things, but mostly that he’d sacrificed it all for it, and he couldn’t let it crumble. If that meant becoming emperor to stop Wilbur, then so be it. If that meant betraying everyone, he would. He just couldn’t let Dream keep it. (His discs had been taken back from him to secure L’manberg’s freedom. It could not be for nothing.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>More than that, Tommy was selfish. He was selfish. He wanted power. He wanted a title. And to be fair, thus far, things had worked out well for selfish people here. (Well, maybe things didn’t seem to be working out as well for Eret as they had been, but… that might’ve been a fluke.) Was it selfish to want to go home, though? Was it selfish to feel unsafe with the psychopaths, strangers, and liars of Pogtopia? Was it selfish to finally do what was in his best interest after so much time spent putting his own plans to the side, appeasing others, and sacrificing the things he loved? People didn’t recognize his losses because, for all it was worth, no one saw him as anything more than an unusually annoying kid. Was it selfish to want to be more?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, his mind unhelpfully supplied as he finally found himself in his usual spying spot, behind Eret’s tower beside L’manberg. (He still thought it a rather obvious spot, but no one had seemed to catch him yet.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t that early, but Quackity and Schlatt were both outside, speaking to each other. Windy as it was, their voices just barely caught on the wind and over to him. Something about…? A pickaxe? Maybe protein powder? Tommy crept closer and into Manberg’s borders, bow drawn in apprehension.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“To be demolished,” he heard Schlatt explain. “Come on! It’s time! This is on you. Let’s go! Let’s go!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, no, no, no,” Quackity argued as Schlatt cheered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t make me make a stone pickaxe,” Schlatt groaned. “Don’t be a little bitch. You’re gonna make me get the dumbbells out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re not fucking doing that! Come on, let’s g- </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop fucking exercising! Let’s go!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re being too much of a little bitch- I’m gonna have to tear this shit down by myself!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop! Fucking stop! What are you doing?!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Quackity cried. “I built this myself, man! You can’t just-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Schlatt began to sing loudly over him as the walls began to crumble.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...What?” Tommy muttered to himself, creeping closer. It was odd enough that they were having this very loud argument in public where anyone could hear them, but this was also particularly grim.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop! We’re supposed to share these decisions!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Get fucking mining! God, I can’t take these fucking idiots! Who did I get to run my country with me! Bunch of betas, bro!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re president! I’m vice president! It’s a partnership!” Quackity said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know what I see, Quackity? Even in full netherite armor, because it makes you look </span>
  <em>
    <span>big </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>strong</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you’ve still got the flatty patty!” Shlatt replied. “I’m not gonna take orders from some low-T, soy boy bitch!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You wouldn’t have any power if it weren’t for me!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know what’ll really upset you, you little puss?” Schlatt shattered a window with his pick. “Know what I hear? I hear somebody crying about it!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How are you gonna advocate for democracy when you’re doing this shit?!” Quackity asked. “You know what?! You can find another fucking vice president! I’m done!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>“</span><em><span>Ooh, I can find another vice president</span></em><span>-</span> <span>You are the fucking worst, bro. Hey, I got a watch! Know what it says? Where’s the big hand pointing? Oh! Looks like it’s time to </span><em><span>cry about it! </span></em><span>You little pussy!”</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I ran against Wilbur to prevent another dictator, but you-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, no, no, I’m not done,” Shlatt interrupted. “I’m doing this shit alone with a busted hip because I can’t get any goddamn help around here from people who are ungrateful, low-T, soy boy betas!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>“This shit’s mine…!” Quackity argued. “You have moldy hands, and you’re fucking smelly, and you’re actually a dick! You have the citizens’ morale so fucking low that it’s underground! I can’t believe I’m saying it, but this place might’ve been better off under a different leadership!”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“How ‘bout you fucking shoot me, huh? Too much of a pussy to even shoot me. It’ll kill me in one blow, but- </span><em><span>oh, no,</span></em> <em><span>I can’t do it! I can’t! I’m Quackity! I-</span></em><span>”</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With little hesitation, Quackity raised the bow and let loose a bolt. Shlatt toppled over and Quackity didn’t wait for his body to disintegrate as he respawned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Go fuck yourself,” he snarled and stormed off into the woods past Manberg.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy did not hesitate to follow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Quackity saw Tommy coming, his heart rate went up more than he cared to admit. Hey, don’t judge him, alright? The kid was fucking scary, expecially in goddamn armor. It was a threat. A conviction that Quackity wasn’t safe. That fighting might break out. And if it did, he wouldn’t be able to get into Pogtopia. (And if a fight broke out, Quackity knew Tommy would make sure if fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Technoblade was his brother, wasn’t he? Unless that was just a rumor… They didn’t look much alike, after all.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why are you in the woods, Big Q?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity gulped, “I… live here. I fuckin’ live here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you have Eret to gather your resources?” Tommy then realized that, no, he did not, in fact, have Eret to gather resources because Eret was safe and sound in Pogtopia with the rest of his friends. “Or, er, uh, fucking Punz?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Listen, Tommy,” Quackity said, reaching a hand out to sedate him, even as they maintained their distance. “We need to talk.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy sniffed, “... Been a while, Mr. Vice President.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Quackity laughed bitterly. “Not vice president anymore. Just Quackity. Schlatt’s an asshole, that’s all I’m gonna say right now.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why, what’s happened?” Tommy asked, as if he didn’t know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He took down the White house and he’s gone all fuckin’ power crazy, and just… I, I dunno,” he said, wiping a hand down his face. “We have internal conflicts.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was just in Pogtopia, and I heard some screaming, and, and, were you crying?” Tommy asked, smiling jovially. Annoying little snot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t crying!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I wasn’t fucking crying!” he said indignantly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Was Schlatt crying?” Tommy asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Schlatt was… bawling his eyes out. So fucking angry, he was bawling his eyes out,” Quackity said. “I’m gonna drop it out real quick…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Drop out…? What, you having a shit?” Tommy asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I want to overthrow Schlatt,” Quackity explained. “And you might know, the rules of democracy dictate that, should anything happen to the current president, the vice takes over. He’s a dick, he doesn’t follow the rules properly, he’s always undermining me, so...”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So…? Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Big Q?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, you got kicked out! You and Wilbur, down in Pogtopia? I mean, I know I took part in that decision, but,” he mumbled the next bit, kicking a loose pebble beneath his shoe. “Maybe we can work together or somethin’.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How do I know this isn’t a set up?” Tommy asked the dreaded question that Quackity had hoped he wouldn’t even consider. After all, Quackity wasn’t a great liar, all things considered. Lies always stuck to the roof of his mouth, all gummy, came out a bit too sarcastic, playful, and eventually he forgot the lie he’d originally come up with. It also just made his stomach hurt, to tell a lie. He’d been raised with good morals, after all. Tommy continued, “You haven’t really said anything concrete.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The exact thing Quackity had been trying to avoid. Fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>great.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whaddya wanna know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean, everyone in Pogtopia calls you Schlatt’s B. It stands for, uh, Schlatt’s Bitch.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity was a little pissed off by this news, “I am not Schlatt’s bitch! You know, with that, I’m even more pissed! That’s… that’s not…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That did piss him off a little more than he would have liked. Because even if he was still technically on Schlatt’s side, things could change with the drop of a hat, and he didn’t want people thinking he was one of Schlatt’s mindless little lackeys like Fundy (who, for the record, was slowly breaking out of that, Quackity thought. He worried about the kid, but he figured he’d be fine).</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you’re gonna ask, just ask.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Help me kill Schlatt,” Quackity said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that just what you want? Or, are you even in… Manberg now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t fucking know! I don’t-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because,” Tommy interrupted. “If you want it, you’ve got to fucking ask. You can’t be indirect with me. No more lies.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You and Wilbur need to help me kill Schlatt,” Quackity said, still reluctant to flat out ask to join them. “I’m not gonna be his quote unquote “bitch” anymore!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that what you want?” Tommy wondered, raising an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You want me to ask?!” Quackity shouted. “Want me to get down on my knees and beg?! Tommy, are you going to help me or not?! Because I’m going to do this with or without you!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A heavy bluff, Quackity knew. He wasn’t going to do jackshit without Pogtopia at his back. But he hoped his words of conviction would convince Tommy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to join us? Do you want to… join Pogtopia?” Tommy offered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want to join Pogtopia. I want to fucking take Schlatt down,” Quackity said, finally.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How do I know this isn’t a set-up?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m in full netherite. I… uh…” He soon realized that Tommy, too, was wearing full netherite and carrying a shiny, enchanted sword on his back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If I can prove it any other way, I’d be glad to,” Quackity said awkwardly. “I’m done with it, man.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, man. You’re kind of a bad hombre,” Tommy said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When I ran against you and Wilbur, the country had walls. When I first came here, the first thing Wilbur told me was, “You can’t go into L’manberg because you’re not British,” and as a first impression, that left me out a lot. It wasn’t about hating </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it was about… justice for everyone else, I suppose. And along the way, I guess I sorta lost sight of that, so, for that, I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was just a hint of mirth in Tommy’s eyes as he asked, “Okay, then let me ask you one question.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You see a man stood in front of you, what do you do?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity smiled. He was most certainly in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think it’s a big secret that I love women so much,” Quackity said, lowering his voice. “If I see a man, I’ll kick his ass, Tommy! I’ll kick his ass!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy, who’d been previously rather stone faced, finally broke into a smile as he whooped and hollered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then welcome to the resistance, Big Q! Let’s kill shit! Burn shit down!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Or, wait, maybe let’s not burn things,” Tommy mumbled. “That’s a very Schlatt-esque thing to do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, they didn’t burn the forest down that day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy led him back to Pogtopia, and by the time they were properly there, the sun was set yet again. A huge tower marked its existence, and that did not shock Quackity. He feigned surprise at it nevertheless.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“In,” Tommy said, nudging him through the space in the wall of a small hill he had opened.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity entered to see a small, cramped little room with a few ratty, unmade beds and a couple of chests.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t hide his disappointment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>This</span>
  </em>
  <span> is Pogtopia?” he asked. “Jesus christ, man.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, no, no, no, shut up,” Tommy said, walking briskly down a set of narrow stairs Quackity did not at first see. Quackity followed, a little slower, because they were hastily chipped and he was afraid of falling down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Whoa…</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he muttered, seeing the place at last.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t… gorgeous, no. But it was bigger and taller than Quackity had at first thought. It was better stocked, too. Quackity was expecting a space more akin to the tunnel that he and Schlatt had found beneath Manberg. Instead, it was a fucking ravine. The lanterns hung high and several squares had been carved out in place of doors, Quackity expected. The whole entrance they stood in was a complex netting of wooden bridges leading to various spots in the cavern.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yeeeeeaaaaah!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Tommy cheered, standing now at the bottom of the staircase, and his voice bounced off the walls and seemed to summon every other resident of the little hidey hole. First was Wilbur, followed by Niki, who wrapped Tommy in his arms and mumbled something that Quackity barely heard in his shoulder, and- what the fuck? Was he crying? He was starting to think that maybe he’d made a mistake coming here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry for being mean to you last time,” Wilbur mumbled wetly. Tommy fought the urge to peel his brother off his shoulder and tell him to get a grip. They had company, after all, and the sudden display of weakness certainly didn’t make them look good. “I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead of rejecting the hug, Tommy patted him on the back awkwardly and said, “It’s alright, big man.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“... Quackity?” Niki asked, looking past Tommy and up the stairs. He smiled shyly and waved. Fuck, Quackity hated being the new kid.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur stood perfectly still, then released himself from the hug as he glowered at Quackity with a hostility that made his blood turn to slush in his veins.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ll never guess who I recruited,” Tommy said nervously, causing Wilbur to turn his cold eyes on Tommy instead, which was a relief to Quackity as it allowed his heart to start beating again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m not adverse to the idea!” he said conversationally, smiling now. “I’m just curious as to why. I mean, Big Q, you’re okay with the destruction? Blowing shit up?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?!” Quackity asked, horrified.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay,” Tommy tried to mediate. “This is probably not the best introduction.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What, you mean you didn’t tell him what we’re planning?” Wilbur asked, the smile not leaving his face. The dichotomy from the miserable sorrow he'd first shown and his current smugness was vast. “I think they call that entrapment. In that case, Mr. Vice President, I have something to show you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“... I’m not the vice president anymore,” Quackity didn’t know why he felt like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>was the important thing to clarify.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hmm," Wilbur smiled wider, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I can hardly believe it."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, it's true," Tommy was quick to affirm on Quackity's behalf. "I saw it with my own two eyes."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Let's go to Manberg tomorrow. I want to show you, too," Wilbur said, then turned to Niki. "I'll trust you to look after Technoblade and Eret?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I hardly think they need me looking after them," Niki laughed nervously, glancing between the three of them. "They're the capable ones."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I just don't want them alone here for too long," Wilbur explained. "Technoblade and Eret don't really know each other well yet, and if anything bad happens, I want an extra set of hands."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Wilbur spoke like that, so calmly and methodically, Niki and Tommy could both almost see the man he once was inside. Niki could see the kindness and cleverness. Tommy could see the respect he garnered. So, with no resistance, Niki accepted Wilbur's request.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"... So," Quackity cleared his throat. "Eret is </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur looked at them both and asked, "Have you eaten yet? It's late, but there's still some stew and bread left. Er, sort of a small helping because we weren't expecting company, but…"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'll share," Tommy said, a little hesitant. His brother seemed so sturdy now. With his head firmly on his shoulders, Tommy didn't want to do anything to upset him or fuck it up. However, there was a slight strain in Wilbur's voice and a quiet anger behind his eyes that was putting Tommy on edge.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest of the night, they ate dinner, explained a bit to Quackity, and tried to be normal for one fucking evening. Of course, nothing about this situation was normal. It wouldn't be for a long time. But they could try, and try they did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the morning, Wilbur revealed where the button was.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Quackity and Schlatt: *loudly getting divorced*<br/>Tommy: 👁👄👁👂</p><p>This one is sort of a whopper! Big chapter pog! I feel like that argument really padded it up, though.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. the monster smiles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>What is labelled as a monster cannot possibly be a monster if it smiles, Phil learns from his first two boys. Even if the monster had tusks, or was just a bit off in a way you can't quite place, or is as destructive as the average tornado. Phil's sons proved that much to him. If Phil's brood were monsters, then he was happy to announce there simply were no monsters. Phil knows he doesn't worry about them when they go their own ways in life. Their bond was unshakable. They would always look after each other.</p><p>Dream proves him wrong time and time again. Maybe monsters do smile.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Technoblade: the sbi family dynamic is not canon<br/>Me: I am so sorry mr blade but you could not be more wrong</p><p>anyway, this is just another sbi family origin chapter. It has more character analysis than plot, but I like it :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Phil had acquired all his boys at very young ages, with Techno being the first. If you could believe it, it was actually rather simple and sad. There was no young piglin following him through a nether portal or any mysterious baby left on his doorstep. Just a downtrodden parent with far too many mouths to feed and an extremely desperate trade.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Believe it or not, Phil had been a warrior back in his youth, and people loved him for it. A legend was what he was. People from near and afar knew him as undying and mysterious. He soaked it up. In reality, though, he was just a kid with an inflated ego, who was by no means ready for a crumb of responsibility. He could barely feed himself, let alone another living creature.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He'd been in the nether when he first met Technoblade. He'd been trading with whatever piglins he encountered who looked particularly wealthy, but it was hellish hot, he had everything he needed, and it was time to go.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he counted his remaining gold, a piglin came and tugged harshly on his sleeve. At first, thinking he was getting attacked, he had withdrawn his sword, but immediately he let himself rest when he saw a particularly sickly looking piglin, swarmed by maybe seven or eight smaller carbon copies of itself. They were all skin and bone, with beady eyes and sagging skin. The parent was dressed in rags and carrying a heavy pack on its back. It let out a loud, miserable snort, which the babies all echoed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, looking to trade?" Phil asked, though he knew it didn't speak his language. Piglins weren't capable of human speech and, in all his time spent traveling, he'd never had any luck breaking the language barrier. Any attempts to in the past had resulted in no response at all or some extremely funny stares.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked the piglin and its poor family up and down. He didn't imagine they could have much to trade, what with their dress and sickliness. But it never hurt to try.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Anything to offer?" he asked, to which the parent simply snorted and readjusted the straps of its bag. Phil snorted, too, but that was just the beginnings of a laugh, more a scoff than an imitation. "Okay, mate, just take it. I've got plenty to spare."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He placed a healthy chunk in its hand and, without a second thought, it removed the heavy pack it carried from its back and slipped the straps into his hand. A completed transaction. The pack was more than heavy, though. It was warm and provided that odd feeling one felt when touching something alive through layers of material. He readjusted the bag in his arms and came face to face with a baby.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh…" Phil gasped. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, aren't you the most precious thing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The baby wasn't like the others of its brood. Though piglins came in many shades, Phil had never known one to be this pretty a pink. It was more cotton candy than coral. Its skin did not sag and something in its eyes and the bridge of its nose struck Phil as odd, gave him the shivers. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Human,</span>
  </em>
  <span> his mind told him, though he knew it wasn't the truth. Was this the uncanny valley? Because even though it was so clearly a pig, every bone in his body screamed "hybrid." There was too much intellect in its eyes for anything else to be the truth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Wait, wait," Phil came down from his surprise as the parent turned away with its oinking children. "Stop, where are you going? I can't take this."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It turned and looked at him, looked confused, and then pointed to the small bundle. It let out a series of grunts and tilted its head to Phil as if to ask, "do you understand?" which Phil did not. It repeated the noise, and Phil mimicked it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Tech-no-blade?" he sounded it out like the pig did, granted with a far more human cadence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It shrugged at him as if to say, "close enough," and its children's oinking grew louder. Suddenly annoyed, the piglin huffed loudly at the children, which quieted them down substantially.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You don't understand," Phil examined, holding the baby back out, though the parent made no move to take its infant back. "I can't take this."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It squealed and backed away from Phil, and he had a feeling that giving this baby back would be harder than he hoped. The piglets began to cry out again and the parent huffed loudly again, causing them to fall silent. They seemed hungry and, well, sad.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Looking at this infant, he wondered if the same life awaited it. But it didn't matter. Phil couldn't just take it from its family, even if it was just about the most frail, skeletal baby Phil had ever seen. Though Phil was not familiar with piglins, he knew a human baby should be fat and round, like the village toddlers he encountered on his journeys. And though he knew less of baby pigs, he knew they weren't all bony like this. He doubted piglins were all that different.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No matter,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>For all I know, this could be standard for monsters.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Take the baby," Phil held the bundle out one last time before the piglin squealed, clutching the gold pieces to its chest, and ran off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, Phil had never known a piglin to go back on its deal. Though he wouldn't have demanded his gold back, it made sense the piglin did not understand that. It made sense. It was just... frustrating. He, admittedly, didn't know quite what to do. What he did know, though, was this infant was weak. Starving. So he brought the swaddle back through the portal with him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Technoblade, </span>
  </em>
  <span>its parent had said when gesturing to it. Or, that was what Phil had heard, anyway, so that's what Phil called the baby. (Because surely that was a name, right? The squeals had been too quick. Too affirming.) A quick check proved the baby to be a boy and a quick venture into town proved how people would react to his new acquisition. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>First, when he'd come to town, there'd been awwing and cooing, but the first time somebody came to get a proper look at Technoblade, they'd reacted with abject horror. Their shock kept them all a good distance away. No one asked many questions. Phil had a feeling an overworld village was not a place for a hybrid like Techno, so clearly part-monster and so clearly strange.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He ended up in a battle with his new little buddy that night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finding food suitable for babies was difficult. Based on what the kindly (well, kindly might have been a stretch. They seemed just as disgusted and frightened, but they didn't turn him away or voice their obvious discomfort in any way.) shopkeepers had told him, based on Techno's size, he'd probably gotten past the weaning process by now and was ready for real food, but he'd taken formula just in case.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Technoblade wouldn't drink milk, or eat peaches, beans, or carrots. He'd gone through the motions of mashing it up for him and everything, but nothing seemed to take. He sniffed the beans and outright refused them. He took one bite of the peaches before spitting them all out. Then, like a miracle, just when Phil was almost about to give up, Technoblade snorted approvingly at a spoonful of potatoes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, Technoblade liked potatoes, and Phil was willing to indulge.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>(Would indulge,  for many years. Technoblade was a picky eater and Phil's willpower wasn't strong enough to get him to eat much else.)</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next day, Phil went into the nether with his little buddy, hoping to locate the piglin family from before, but alas, they left no trace. He kept it up every single day for a week, but nada. Then he finally sighed and decided he would just try to relinquish him back to his people.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil wasn't an animal expert, per se, but he'd observed plenty of strange phenomena. He knew, for fact, not to interfere with a mother bird's young because, if the baby bird smelled human, the mother would throw it from the nest. Much the same happened with Technoblade. All attempts at integrating him back into his tribe was meant with drawn swords and other acts of hostility. That was when Phil knew the nether was no longer a place for this baby, but the overworld wasn't either; Phil thought it a terrible crime that Technoblade couldn't live in between.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was when Phil decided that, if there was no place for this child, he would make one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Technoblade became his son. The first of three. He was a grabby little thing, with eyes that let Phil know he had a lot going through his mind, but he was dead silent. The most he usually got from Technoblade was soft snuffs and the occasional snort.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But what really melted his heart? Sold him on this being his perfect, special little boy for the rest of his life? Was the first time Technoblade ever smiled. It was so small and divine. It reminded Phil that he'd always been particularly fond of babies. Though he'd been hesitant to accept this random one, Technoblade was certainly </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he couldn’t help but beam in pride at that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>… And how terrible, that Technoblade could not live in between. Neither side would accept him anymore. They all saw him as some sort of monster. But the monster smiled, with tusks and accompanying baby gurgles, and Phil could not have loved anything more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For the first two months, he maintained his home in the village and everyone, who'd previously been friendly and excited to speak to the wandering hero, seemed uncomfortable. They were more curt now. Standoffish. They avoided eye contact when Phil came outside with Technoblade. This hostile, backwards little town was no place for a growing child. So he left. Not just the village, the world. This just wasn't working out anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>People were sad to see him go, but happy to be rid of the one monster in the world they couldn't (in good conscience) kill.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He settled them in another village, where the villagers were a little less nosy, a little less quick to judge. But he built his home on a hill, far enough away from the villagers to have privacy and start claiming his own land. He was thinking a farm. After all, he couldn't really just go off exploring and travelling anymore, what with the new baby.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(That was when it sunk in, he supposed. Suddenly, he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking old, </span>
  </em>
  <span>dude. He had to settle. He had to raise his infant son. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Holy shit.</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Raising Technoblade was easy. He wasn't a difficult baby. Phil wasn't sure how he was so content, but maybe his previous upbringing had to do with it. He must've been used to being a little hungry. Or perhaps piglets just didn't really cry that much. Phil didn't know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the time he was about a year old, Phil started thinking about whether or not Technoblade would ever speak English. It would be fine if he didn't. It would just be a bit of a work-around. But, as if to quell any fears, Technoblade said his name, clear as day:</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Phil," the baby babbled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil couldn't contain his smile, "What was that, Techno? Come again?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The baby just oinked back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Come on, buddy, say it again," he held him at eye level, begging. "Say Phil. Phil. That's me!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Phil!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yes!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So Technoblade had never called him by a title. Because Technoblade was so clearly adopted, Phil worried that them being on a first name basis might put distance between them to others. He wanted people to know that Technoblade was his kid. He didn't want Technoblade to be an outsider. Fortunately, though, it didn't become much a problem. It was just a bit funny, if anything. Informal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next two children picked up on it quickly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur was the mysterious baby, actually, because Phil was summoned to him by song.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He'd been cutting down trees on his property, Technoblade in a swaddle strapped to his back, content to simply watch the scenery, so he could expand his farm when the wind blew particularly strong. His hat flew right off his head and as he reached to grasp it, he heard it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first note.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a sad melody. Slow, low. But if you asked him to sing it, even seconds after hearing it, he wouldn't be able to recall. It was only carried on the wind, though, and it was so weak. But Phil knew better than to listen to songs. He knew there was terrible magic in the world. (And trust him, this song did seem magical, somehow.) With a baby on his back, he shouldn't have followed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he reasoned, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I do need to get my hat.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn't so far into the woods that Phil couldn't see it. If it had been, he might not have walked in after it at all. The woods behind his home were too vast and Phil just had a weird feeling about today.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The music pushed him forward. It was soft and faint. It seemed so sad before, but the moment he set foot into the forest, it picked up in tempo and grew just a bit airier. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Come, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it sang. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Come see.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He picked up his hat and put it on his head. He readjusted Technoblade's swaddle on his back and ventured forward. A stupid decision, really, that he shouldn't have made. It was dangerous and irresponsible to follow strange magic into a wood that he knew to be eerie and vast. However, if you asked Phil now, he wouldn't have changed that decision for the world. Because it brought him one of the three best gifts a man could receive: Wilbur.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He'd been wary, though. The song hummed beneath his feet. Joyful. Hopeful. Encouraging. The wind was strong and he held his hat to his head to keep it from flying off again. When he finally reached the clearing, there were tears springing up in his eyes from the intense wind. And the music was </span>
  <em>
    <span>loud. </span>
  </em>
  <span>So loud he swore he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost at its source.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then it all stopped.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly it was quiet. No noise besides the typical forest sounds. A brook babbling somewhere. Birds chirping. The swishing of leaves. It wasn't even dark and scary.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was why he decided to venture those few extra steps and see what the song so desperately wanted him to see.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a baby, laid asleep in a lush patch of grass, but something was wrong with it, and he didn't mean in the way that Technoblade had been too thin and frail when he said this other baby was too thin and frail. It didn't look sickly. It just looked strange. And, similar to looking at Techno the first time, he'd recognized a certain uncanny valley to the child. The oddest part was no matter how hard he looked, he couldn't find what was wrong with his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When looking at Techno, you could see where the human was. He wasn't quite so wide as a piglin. His nose sloped down a little in a way that, if you covered the bottom half of his face, almost reminded him of a regular human child. His eyes were too wide and bright. They didn't hold the animalistic void that he expected piglins to. But that was all extremely subtle. Maybe it was enough for him to look peculiar to a piglin, but it wasn't enough to look human to a human, if you understood what he meant. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This</span>
  </em>
  <span> baby was all human. It wasn't too stout or too long or too grey or too shiny. It's nose was normal. It's jawline was normal. It's eyes were normal. It's mouth was normal. He couldn't see the discrepancy and that was weird because his gut just told him </span>
  <em>
    <span>something was wrong and off</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then the child stirred and opened its eyes and Phil's heart melted. The monster, the one who'd been off in some way Phil couldn't even begin to identify, the one who had lured him there with a song, smiled. It smiled! He'd been wrong, he decided at that moment. The baby seemed strange at the moment, but perhaps it was a trick of the light. It really did look completely normal. Besides, even if it was a hybrid, Phil didn't particularly care. This was one of the most wonderful little creatures Phil had ever encountered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was why Phil decided, "Hey, one more couldn't hurt."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No surprise when the little guy turned out to be the most intuitive, manipulative, and charming child Phil had ever met. But, of course, that would all come in due time. For now, Phil took this new baby home with the intent to keep him. He decided that, whatever had happened just then, it'd been fate somehow. Fate had brought him there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He rather liked the name Wilbur and he thought, in some way, it made him and Technoblade match, even though the names Technoblade and Wilbur were decidedly not a matching set. But the name Wilbur had something to do with wild boars, if Phil wasn't mistaken, and he liked the idea of regarding them as twins, even though he wasn't sure how much older or younger either of them were. His observations placed them at a little over one year, and the doctors in town seemed to agree that that was a reasonable estimation. Babies tended to change a lot in one year.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur was not an easy baby. At first, Phil had thought it would be the same as it was with Technoblade, if not easier because Wilbur didn't fuss when given different foods and would, in fact, eat anything you put before him (or at the very least try), but Phil had been wrong. Wilbur cried and cried, keeping him up at all hours of the night. It was difficult to keep him entertained and, worse yet, he seemed to teach his fussiness to Techno, and suddenly he had two crying children to worry about.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a lot of blood, sweat, and tears, his boys grew up. At some points, Phil worried he'd miscalculated their ages. First, Techno grew much faster than Wilbur did, but then Wilbur shot right up with him, and eventually outgrew him right back. So Phil decided, yes, he'd been right. They were within a year of each other.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So it wasn't so odd to treat them like twins. They shared birthdays, cake and gifts included. Phil had decided it would teach them about sharing pretty early on, but even though the sword they got one year was meant to be a gift for both of them, Technoblade took to it much easier and thus held onto it, and when Phil bestowed a guitar upon them, only Wilbur even bothered trying to play it. Twins, yes, but only in a sense of the word. A very loose sense.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows raising the twins, you know. When they began taking lessons in the village, they were miserable. Phil didn't understand why at first. Techno loved to learn and Wilbur loved to be social. He learned rather quickly that they were both being horribly teased by the village children, and thus had to go and shut it down. After that, they always seemed a bit shyer, a bit easier to upset. Phil supposed they had never properly known human cruelty until then, always hidden beneath Phil's wings.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>("You're not brothers," the children had said to them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Wilbur had protested, "We are, we are, we are!"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Where Wilbur was angry, Technoblade was sad. Lonely. Different. But luckily for him, he had those funny little voices in the back of his head on his side, all chanting, </span>
  <em>
    <span>No. No. They're wrong. You and Wilbur are a matching pair. They're wrong. They're wrong.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So Technoblade stood alongside Wilbur with as much sturdiness as he could muster, and fought the strange urge to get extremely hostile.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The twins were impossible at times. They were just so different from each other. Still, Phil took it in stride, making careful notes of their intricacies. For example, Wilbur was the boss of the house. He led Technoblade around and knew how to weasel things out of Phil and had more tactics for doing so than one might expect. Technoblade was picky and stubborn. He never changed his mind about anything. It took him way too long to get him to eat anything that wasn’t a potato or some sort of potato byproduct, and Technoblade applied that same difficulty to every walk in life. Wilbur liked music and pretty noises. He’d be entertained for hours just listening to the windchimes on the front porch or beating his hands on the counter they ate at. Technoblade was thrilled by the descriptions of the big fighting tournaments in other worlds on the radio, so Phil kept the channel on for him (station 201.5, Phil still remembered to this day.) Wilbur liked to socialize and did so with ease. Technoblade liked to be alone, but would always make exceptions for his brother and Phil. Both of them were spirited children, Wilbur with his words and Technoblade with his fists, and both were chaotic as all hell, wrestling and running and jumping through the cabin he’d built like a pair of unruly hounds, and both were unwaveringly idealistic, even from early ages. Phil knew they would grow into a pair of men he would admire.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shortly after twins had just turned five, Phil found himself missing the adorable baby gurgles of their infancies. But everyday, he found he was more paternal than he ever thought he was. When he’d been a wandering hero, he’d been reluctant to accept any form of responsibility. He didn’t make permanent homes, never bothered with anything that he figured was more trouble than it was worth. Being a dad taught him a lot about himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sad sense of empty nest syndrome did not pervade for long because Phil was approached in the dead of night by a woeful and very young couple begging Phil to take in another child. At first he was confused, but the story was quickly explained to him. The baby was unplanned and the two had been searching for a family willing to take their unborn child in, as to avoid having to give the child up to the system, which, in the world Phil was currently inhabiting, was not the greatest. There was also the problem that the young couple was, like Phil had mentioned, very young, and definitely unmarried. In a small village like theirs, it would be no surprise to Phil if the young couple was publicly shunned for their endeavors. Apparently the couple knew Phil had already adopted two young sons and figured he was both empathetic and disconnected from the village enough that he wouldn’t have a mind to let their secret slip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were so very young, and Phil didn’t want another child stuck in the system, and he knew he was a good father, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>missed the times when the twins were adorable babbling tots. So, Phil thought, “Hey, what harm could </span>
  <em>
    <span>one </span>
  </em>
  <span>more do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(A lot, both his clean hardwood floors that Tommy caked mud on and even cracked from his roughhousing and blood pressure, which Tommy had never ceased to elevate, would learn.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, Phil took in one more kid. He explained it to Technoblade and Wilbur, who had shared conspiratorial glances with one another that made Phil wary, as he made breakfast, but Technoblade seemed genuinely happy to have another child in the house, especially a baby.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Only if it’s a boy,” Technoblade had said. “So I can teach it to swordfight with me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, you certainly won’t be swordfighting with a baby, boy or girl,” Phil said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Technoblade had asked with so much misery Phil almost had half a heart to change his mind, but he didn’t, of course. “If it’s a girl, it’s going to have cooties, so it has to be a boy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where did you learn girls have cooties?” Phil asked, tossing the eggs around on the griddle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s true,” Wilbur said indignantly. “All the other boys said so!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil just laughed to himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And what do you think, Wil?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“... No baby,” Wilbur muttered. “I don’t want it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why not?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’ll stink,” Wilbur said. “And cry. And I’ll have to share toys with it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, you have to share toys with Techno, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But I came first, so actually, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>have to share with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Technoblade had corrected.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The point of sharing is that it’s split evenly, so everyone shares with each other,” Phil explained, to which Technoblade just huffed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If I have to split everything evenly with another baby, then I’ll only have a third of it, not one half, which means I’ll have less,” Wilbur told him, which was pretty sound logic, theoretically speaking. Actually, hell, when did they start teaching children about fractions so early? How did Wilbur know what a third was? Christ…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Phil conceded. “I suppose that’s true. But don’t worry. The baby will be five years younger than you. They won’t be interested in your toys until long after you’re done playing with them.” A half truth, really.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I still don’t want it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aww,” Phil turned and filled up both their breakfast plates with the scrambled eggs he’d been preparing just moments ago. Then he plucked the sweet berries he’d picked the night prior and placed it on their plates as well. “Don’t worry about that. Think instead about what fun baby names you can come up with. Bon appetit. Dig in.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I like… Theseus,” Technoblade said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, noted,” Phil said. “Is that from one of your books?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How long until it gets here?” Wilbur asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s see… Elizabeth is, what, four months along, if I’m remembering? So five more months.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two shared another one of their conspiratorial glances. That meant they had five months to prepare.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(And, of course, you know the story of Wilbur telling Technoblade he’d kill one of them to make room for the new baby, and how they had done everything in the power to appeal to Phil, and get rid of Tommy.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Tommy was born, there was a terrible thunderstorm. He was born almost two weeks early, and he was born in a barn. Phil arrived the morning after to collect the child in relative secrecy, only known by the young couple, of course. He was such a fussy baby. He cried well into the night and, because the weather was so crummy as of late, Phil would rather not have built the new expansion to the house. It was a torrential spring, with very few sunny days until early May, when the dark haze finally seemed to break. It was still windy, but at least it wasn’t pissing it down anymore, so Phil finally got to work building the new room for Tommy by the time he was roughly a month old. This seemed to put Wilbur and Technoblade at ease, at least.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thinking back, Wilbur had hated Tommy in the very beginning. Or, as close to hating something that was your little brother and also relatively helpless one could get, but by the time Tommy was about three or four, they were essentially attached at the hip. Tommy was like Wilbur’s shadow, never far behind Wilbur’s back at any given moment. His relationship with Technoblade was different, but not any less loving as far as Phil was concerned. Where Technoblade had always been a quiet kid, serious, sullen, Tommy was loud, energetic, and full of a certain chutzpah that both put he and Technoblade at odds and on the same playing field at the same time. One could clearly see both of the twins in Tommy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Like Wilbur, Tommy was a music fanatic, but in a different way. He was musical, of course, sang and played piano and pretended all the time, but his fixation was always more about listening. He didn’t want to learn to play every instrument he could get his hands on, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>want to have physical copies of every album from every artist he ever liked and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>sit in Wilbur’s room for hours at a time just listening to him pick at his guitar. Also like Wilbur, he was incredibly charming. A real people person. But where Wilbur’s charm relied on him being manipulative and knowing just what to say, Tommy’s was all about shouting everybody down and making everyone who knew him laugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Like Technoblade, Tommy was a ball of rage and a worrying amount of bloodlust that surprised everyone. Where Technoblade’s violence was always warranted and seemed to release in carefully placed bursts (a sharp kick to the back of the knees when one was turned, an elbow in the ribs when one stretched), Tommy was always fighting and always shouting. His attacks weren’t calculated at all, just constant, like an annoying little gnat (several slaps on the back of the neck that you were completely expecting, but hurt like a bitch every time he managed to get you, a few flick on the forehead that you were just barely too slow to prevent.) They sparred with one another, too, when Tommy was old enough and when Wilbur was quote unquote “being a boring stick in the mud” and holing up in his bedroom with his guitar. No problem, once Phil got assurance that Technoblade would go easy on him. There were even a few times when Phil looked out the window and saw Tommy manage to knock Technoblade’s sword out of his hand. Phil always smiled at that. Technoblade feigned shock every time, and he was a terrible actor, of course, but Tommy whooped and hollered like he was the fighter of a century every single time. He was surprised he let him get away with it, really. Technoblade had a special gift when it came to swordsmanship and a fantastic sense of pride from it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy was never bullied like the twins were. For several reasons. On one hand, nobody wanted to make fun of a kid whose older brothers were Wilbur, who could ruin you socially within a week, or Technoblade, who could kick your ass in ten seconds flat. On the other, Tommy was entirely human as far as anyone was aware, so there was less to tease him over. And yes, even if Tommy was no monster, not like Wilbur or Technoblade, he smiled just the same.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They grew into powerful young men. United as a front, there was no doubt in Phil’s mind they could take on anything, man, beast, and machine alike. Wilbur was too clever. He was always quick as a whip and he fought best with his words rather than his weapons. Technoblade was the opposite. Not quite a leader, but his reputation definitely preceded him and made him into one anyway. Strong, idealistic, and always the victor in every situation he found himself in. Tommy was just too tough. Like a weed, that kid was. You just couldn’t stamp him down. He was the kind of person everyone wanted on their side. Too mean to have as an enemy, everyone tried to have him as an ally, which, for the record, was easy. Tommy was a good kid, too, all things considered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Technoblade was the first to leave home and that was when Phil started truly feeling like an old man. Technoblade was a scholar and soon-to-be warrior and before Phil knew it, the radio channel that Phil always kept on for Technoblade as a kid was talking about </span>
  <em>
    <span>him. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Not a monster to the people anymore, or, not in the same way. A warrior. Still someone to be feared, should you face his wrath, but not because of his pink skin or ivory tusks. It was lonely at home without him, but Phil made do looking after Tommy and Wilbur.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then, only a couple years later, Wilbur decided it was high time he hit the road, too. That was a much harder goodbye because Tommy was miserable the entire month leading up to his departure. The two were still attached at the hip all this time later. With nothing but his guitar on his back and a suitcase of what he held most dear, he left. He was always a musical kid. An entertainer. Imagine Phil’s surprise when he learned that Wilbur had not only started a revolution, but was a shoo-in to become president afterwards, as well. An entertainer and a leader and somehow it all culminated in that? Strangely, Phil found himself not as surprised as he first thought.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy managed to leave when he was fifteen, only six months after Wilbur did. He’d begged and begged for months. Phil had left home much earlier, of course, but Phil found himself reluctant. He’d promised he’d take Tubbo with him and write lots and visit often and be safe, but Phil didn’t budge. Tommy was just a kid, after all. A tough kid, but just a kid, but after months of pestering, Phil finally let his resolve crumble. He just seemed so lonely by himself in the cabin with no older brothers to follow around. The village had only managed to provide him with one friend, a boy named Tubbo who had no family as far as Phil was aware. The straw that broke the camel’s back was when Tommy announced that Tubbo was going to be leaving the world within the week and that he would be all alone. Phil finally acquiesced. Tommy wanted more than the provincial life he’d been leading thus far, and it always seemed Tommy got what he wanted in the end. Then, he met up with Wilbur when the elder of the two immigrated to the DreamSMP, became a soldier, a hero, and Wilbur’s right hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It all seemed so perfect. The perfect storybook. Three brilliant children raised by one loving father, all of whom went on to some great renown, beloved and feared by their friends and foes. Heroes on the surface and a family where it counted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur lost the first democratic election of L’manberg and their family went to shit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Phil couldn’t get to them. Tommy hated Technoblade and was scared of Wilbur, for good reason, too. Technoblade was unsupported, isolated, and scheming something in case of the worst scenario (i.e., the formation of a government). Wilbur wasn’t well. Screaming over nothing, broke down over anything, and fought against everything, trashing at whatever came near him in any way he could, be it physical or verbal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was one common denominator in every problem the family experienced. One common denominator in </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>’s problems, actually. Be that Niki, who was genuinely trying her best to help everyone, or Eret, who was ticking time bomb of betrayal (</span>
  <em>
    <span>again)</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That denominator was a monster, dressed all in green and mysterious, whose movements were calculated.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The beast approached Manberg with a cold disposition that was still somehow filled with a senseless joy. There he met Fundy, who regarded him cautiously and with a carefully measured distance. He had arrived with a proposition. That diary Eret had asked him to keep all that time ago was, in fact, a spy’s diary. Fundy was to go with it to Wilbur and request entry into Pogtopia. Fundy had an acute sense that perhaps he had no place to refuse this, even if he wanted to. The monster wasn’t something he hoped to entangle himself with, but it wasn’t smart to deny him either because that was equally so entangling. Fundy supposed the best possible scenario would have been to hope the monster didn’t approach him at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To consult with Wilbur… To Fundy, at this very moment, he would have preferred nothing less than that. Even death would have been preferable, even if that was very exaggerative. Reconciliation was not something that would be easy to fake for him. But all things considered, Fundy really did miss his father, and he really had become rather disillusioned with Schlatt’s administration. He was no Wilbur, that much was clear, and not a good replacement for him either. Wilbur would trust the diary’s contents, no doubt. Would he trust Fundy, though? Would Fundy be able to trust him?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What will you have me do?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“In three days time, I want you to go to Pogtopia with your little diary and tell them you want to join them,” Dream explained. “Once you’re in, I’ll come to you for further </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“... Well,” Fundy tried to weasel his way out of it as best he could. He just wasn’t sure he was ready. “I mean, I have to be sworn in as the new vice president of Manberg, you know. No one’s seen Quackity. We think he left, so…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He did. I heard as much from Schlatt. Big argument, huh?” Dream asked. “Well, no matter. Three days is plenty of time. If Wilbur thinks you’ve collected as much intel as you can at any time, it would be right after you gain access to every state secret Manberg has to offer, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy didn’t respond, kept his distance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean, look, I’m just </span>
  <em>
    <span>saying.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Either way, my timeframe is your best bet. I have something planned real soon. Your window of opportunity is closing," Dream continued.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"... I couldn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>kill</span>
  </em>
  <span> Wilbur, if that's what you're wanting, just so you know," Fundy said hurriedly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I never said anything about that," Dream said. "He's your dad, isn't he? That'd be a real conflict of interest. Killing Wilbur isn't even in my plan."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both a truth and a lie, the monster told. On one hand, he wasn't going to kill Wilbur. None of his little chess pieces possessed that power within their wheelhouse anyway. They were all too attached, of course. Well, besides Eret, maybe, but Eret had never been the one to hold a blade themself. He'd always much rather his actions be an indirect force. Besides, Eret was a backup in case anything went wrong with one of the others. An ace up his sleeve. No use spoiling that trying to get Wilbur killed. No, no, the other hand would reveal that he didn't even need anyone to kill Wilbur. With everyone working as they were, Wilbur would probably die anyhow, whether the others all turned on him or the blast got to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm just saying," Fundy clarified, hands balled into anxious fists.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Don't worry. Once every pogtopian is captured, peace will finally be able to return to the SMP," Dream assured. "Which is all anyone really wants."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"There's whispers of an uprising soon, Dream," Fundy retorted. "But people don't seem worried at all. I think they're actually vying for it."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"... That's </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> the sort of thing you should say to Wilbur," Dream replied. "The quicker we get him to rush into a battle, the better. Then we can stop them while they're still weak and unprepared."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I…" Fundy was so, so nervous and the idea of speaking to Wilbur made his stomach churn, but he knew he couldn't refuse Dream, who was essentially a god. "I understand."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Then it's settled!" Dream replied and Fundy watched with quiet discomfort how he suddenly went still. Had Dream always swayed back and forth like that when he was talking? It gave him the creeps. He was so strange and foreign. Too cheerful, too unemotive, and too clever. He was like a robot, or an alien, or a monster.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And unbeknownst to him, unbeknownst to anyone, underneath that white mask, the monster smiled.</span>
</p>
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